Harry Potter of Slytherin
by AshLandWriter
Summary: Ever wonder what would happen if the sorting hat hadn't given Harry a choice, or if Harry was more focused on his life and where he wanted to take it rather than stupid rumors? This is that story, but there may be some scenes that don't include Harry. For instance, a scene where Draco confides in his father or a scene where Hermione apologizes for stealing from Snape.
1. The Sorting Hat

\- **Author's Note on Comments** : As it seems I'm unable to actually respond to the comments in a way so everyone can see my replies, I'm going to address a few things. **(1)** There's been a complaint about how this story is less focused on the plot of the original novel, but I assure you that by the time it's finished the stone, mirror, and Voldemort will have all been covered. So far, only two months have passed in my fanfiction. J. manages to fit an entire school year in the span of only 10 to 12 chapters. I find this terribly plot driven, as I like to work more with characters and how events (whether external or internal) affect them. The fanfiction will make it to the end of the first novel. It will just seem slower to some people who are more plot-obsessed.

 **(2)** Some people think that the title is misleading, because there's been a little more revolving around Draco than Harry. Yes, I didn't realize I'd be doing so much with Draco when this first started. I initially intended for his secrets and problems to just poke at the audience, but with their first few weeks at Hogwarts being only slightly uneventful, yet necessary to establish character relationships and interactions, I thought it would be a good time to establish that even Slytherins are real humans/people with real problems. Also, as many things are affected by Harry's house transfer, if even just slightly, I don't find the title very misleading. Another reason is that I'm giving story to most of the characters to make them more relatable or to feel less 2D. I'm not just doing a story about Draco's issues. I'm also doing a story about how Hermione wants to prove she belongs in the wizard world, I'm doing a story where Ron will have to get past his prejudices in order to be friends with Harry, and Harry will get his external story-line and plot eventually. It's just that they don't know enough yet to have that pick up in speed, but it will when the time is right.

 **(3)** The main purpose of this story is to humanize the Slytherins, to have Ron and Hermione become independent enough to not be Harry's shadows, and for Harry to expand his knowledge and ways of thinking (Gryffindor may have been decent for Harry in some regards, but I never thought he was ever emotionally satisfied with that house. The house transfer lets him explore new ways of thinking that may have him become more satisfied or relaxed in that regard, as his knowledge, resources, and choices would have expanded as result). Also, by not having Harry in Gryffindor, it forces Ron and Hermione to do more things or solve more problems on their own.

 **(4)** I'm not a fan of those narcissistic stories that think there should only be one real protagonist with a few sidekicks and the idea that the entire world should revolve around them. This is not one of those stories. It may take a while, perhaps even another fanfiction after this, but Hermione and Ron will get their glory, and even the "villains" will have their own reasons for doing things. These characters are real people dealing with real problems, not just just 2D figures with permanent ideologies and thoughts. I love character development, psychology, and dream sequences. My author's page tells you to expect these things, so if it's going slower than you like, then you don't have to read it. Just know you will be missing out on the opportunity to see these characters slowly develop into something fuller and more relatable.

 **(5)** There's also been some complaint about how Malfoy is no longer evil, to which I say "Was he really ever?" He probably is going to treat people from his own house better than other people, and even then he may only be doing it out of expectation. There has to be a reason for why people do things. No one is evil to the core, and no one ever believes themselves to be 'the bad guy'. I have implemented some explanations, like how his parents will tell him he should stay away from the impure or that he could do so much better than "insert name". Also, I feel that people commented on Draco's personality "change" before they saw him interact with someone that wasn't even from his house. Perspective is everything.

 **-** I know this was long, but it was necessary to respond to the questions/comments which multiple people may have. Do remember I have an entire school year to finish the philosopher stone plot line, and so far I'm only two months in. Since I started at the halfway point of Rowling's novel, I think I have the right to turn her 10 chapters of the school year into 20, probably even twice that since my chapters seem to be half as long as hers are (and it will be more than that even, just because her books are so plot-focused in the first place). Please be patient, and you will be thankful you were.

* * *

After the sorting hat sang its song, a very loud applause echoed throughout the hall. Harry, however, didn't even smile. He's scared out of his mind. _Gryffindors are brave and honor chivalry. Huffpuffs are loyal and true. Ravenclaws are intelligent with a will to learn. And Slytherins, they are cunning and will do anything to achieve their goals._

Harry shakes his head, as none of these things truly sounded like him. He remembers hiding away, being too afraid of even his cousin to stand and fight back. He couldn't think of anyone he's shown any loyalty to, and although he was smart he wasn't all that interested in spending his life behind a stack of books. _And then the Slytherins will apparently do whatever it costs to succeed, and I'm not too sure I could go through something like that._ He suddenly feels unwell, not sure whether to throw up or faint. _What if I'm not chosen at all? What if I just sit there for hours or even days, being laughed at and humiliated, until Professor McGonagall admits there must have been some mistake and shews me back onto the train?_

Harry didn't even realize the tables had already become quiet again, as the sorting hat had bowed to each one of them. Beside him he hears Ron whisper, "All we have to do is try on a hat!" His voice carries anger, "I'm going to kill Fred. He was going on about wrestling a troll." and for a moment Harry considers if he had meant it. However, he shakes it off, concluding that this must be some form of sibling rivalry he's read about in books.

After looking at the ancient hat again, Harry decided that this was better than a test at least. He looks around the hall, wishing it had not been a public display, but as he thinks about his lack of memorization of his materials over the summer he realizes this is the better deal. _But I don't even know what chivalry or true is._ He watches Professor McGonagall stand forward and unroll a long piece of parchment. _Do they mean true as in truthful, or is it more like true as in being true to yourself?_ He takes a deep, shaky breath, as his hands begin to clam up in the surprisingly temperate, roofless room. _I don't even know who I am._ He looks around for Hermione, noting that he should have her give him a history lesson about himself later. _Assuming she talks slow enough for me to understand a thing she says._

The professor loudly explains to the new students, "When your name is called, you will sit on the stool and the hat will be placed on your head to sort you."

Harry mutters, "I'm going to fail."

Ron whispers, "That's impossible. You can't fail this." as the blond haired Hannah Abbott was called and declared a Hufflepuff. "All you have to do is pick up the hat, and it should do all the work for you." After Susan Bones is also declared a Hufflepuff, she sits down next to the first girl as the table cheers for the newcomers. Ron continues, "The only way you can fail this is if you were put in the wrong house." He takes some candies from his pocket and stuffs his mouth with them, "Like me, I will be expected to be in Gryffindor, so if I get put in Hufflepuff then my family—" He pauses at the thought of disappointment, "If I get put into something else, I'm not sure how they'd react."

Harry questions, "Is there a way I can mess up?" as Terry Boot becomes the first Ravenclaw and shakes hands with a few of the house members.

Ron gives a questioning look, as if he doesn't know how Harry could possibly mess this up, "Well, your parents were in Gryffindor, but I think you should be good so long as you don't get Slytherin."

"Remind me," replies Harry as Mandy Brocklehurst also becomes a Ravenclaw. "What's wrong with Slytherin?" He hurries on before he could be given a look that would show himself to be an idiot again, "Hagrid and you say that Slytherins just go bad, but aside from Vol—" He shakes his head but doesn't say You-Know-Who, as that name actually does scare him for some reason, "Aside from him, who else has gone bad?"

Ron comments, "Well, aside from the fact that most of his followers were in Slytherin, the founder of the Slytherin house was also bad."

Their conversation is briefly interrupted, as Lavender Brown is sorted and the Gryffindor table explodes with cheers. He turns back to Ron, "What exactly did the head of Slytherin do?"

Ron scoffs, "How am I supposed to know? If you want a history lesson, ask a Ravenclaw. I'm not a bloody history book."

Harry becomes quiet, suddenly wishing he hadn't spoken at all. After all, if he's learned anything from the Dursleys, it's that staying quiet always makes things run more smoothly. He looks at the stool as Millicent Bulstrode is assigned to Slytherin, and it's as he saw the last table earn their first student that he's suddenly reminded of gym class. _I was always chosen last, because no one wanted Dudley and his gang to think that they liked me._

As Harry continues to watch, he realizes some people, like Justin Finch-Fletchley who's assigned to Hufflepuff, would be sorted immediately, while others, like Seamus Finnigan who is put in Gryffindor, would take a whole minute to sort. Hermonie Granger is called next, and although she seemed nervous at first, she eventually runs up filled with excitement.

When the hat declares her a Gryffindor, Ron groans, "No."

Hermonie seems rather pleased with herself, but while she grins her way to the Gryffindor's table Nevil Longbottom is called and actually trips his way to the sorting hat. After finding the stool, the hat's placed on his head by Professor McGonagall, and it takes a while for it to decide. There's a lot of murmuring after the hat calls out, "Gryffindor." at the surprise of almost everyone there. Laughter replaces the murmuring, however, when Nevil forgets to take the hat off, and he has to return it to the next student.

Harry doesn't bother listening to what house Morag MacDougal gets sorted into, as he begins to believe it's completely random, but then Draco Malfoy is called up and the hat doesn't even touch his head before declaring him a Slytherin. "Big surprise there," comments Ron sarcastically, as Malfoy smirks his way to the table and sits across from Crabbe and Goyle.

There aren't many people left now, but Harry can't help but think of the impact this decision could have on his life. _Too bad it's not my decision to make._ He looks over at the Slytherin table, swearing that somehow they all just look very unpleasant. _But all of these stories have no doubt messed with my head._ He looks up from the table and sees the many banners of snakes, before he remembers the zoo. He smiles, remembering how polite and conversational the snake had been. _That was actually the first nice conversation I've had in a very long time._

His smile slips, as he soon remembers being punished for the incident, and how he had been punished for things his entire life he had no control over. Whether it had been his hair growing too fast, somehow ending up on top of buildings while escaping Dudley's crew, or a snake escaping the exhibit and picking on his cousin for him, it had all been blamed on him when he wasn't even told why it had been happening in the first place. _I don't think it would have killed my aunt to be like 'By the way Harry, you have magical abilities that do spontaneous and possibly dangerous things when your emotions are out of control, so if you could please try to remain calm that would be great. Thank you.'_

He takes a deep breath as he realizes remaining calm wouldn't have been an option, not with Dudley and his gang hunting him down, how the family treats him like some disgusting object or pest, and how he always wanted to know more about things which he had never been allowed to ask. "Harry Potter," calls Professor McGonagall.

 _I need to get away from them, away from them and make something of myself so that I'll never have to depend on them again._ He steps forward, and several people whisper of the boy who lived, as he sits on the stool and the hat covers his eyes.

"Hmm," says the aged hat after a moment. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see, and not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness yes, and a thirst to prove yourself. Now, that's interesting." He pauses, "So, where shall I put you?"

Harry had been nervous at first, thinking of all the bad things which are said about Slytherin and not wanting to shame his parents' memory. Now, however, he has become almost bored of this; as far as he's concerned, the house doesn't matter. So long as wherever he's sent helps him to make something of himself and never need to depend on the Dursleys again, he will be fine. _So long as I can make something of myself, I will be fine._

The hat nearly laughs out in a very loud, almost conniving voice, "If you're so desperate to make something of yourself, then Slytherin you are."

Harry can feel himself make a scared expression, as the entire hall falls silent and suddenly he feels as if he's made a mistake. He stands and speaks to the hat apologetically, "I don't have to make something of myself. I could stay with the Dursleys, no matter how poorly I'm treated. I don't have to be in Slytherin."

"Oh, yes you do," calls out the hat. "I saw your mind, your anger and desperation. There's no way you're going to let go of that, and Slytherin is just the house that can teach you how to turn such destructive forces into something productive."

Harry stands still in shock before commenting, "You know, my parents were in Gryffindor, and I'm sure bravery is just as important as ambition. Maybe you could—"

The old hat interrupts with a bellowing scream, "All decisions are final."

Harry didn't think it was possible, but as he looks around it seems as if the room as fallen even more silent. He looks over at Ron, but he can't tell if the expression is fear or pity. He feels a hand on his shoulder, before he turns to see McGonagall speak, "Potter, I think it best if you joined your house."

Harry takes a shaky breath as he slowly walks over to the table covered with the green crest of the house, but as he walks no one allows him a seat as they display their self-worth. "Hey. Potter. Over here." He sees the smugly cheerful look on Malfoy's face, but with nowhere to sit he sees no other option. "Crabbe. Goyle. Make room." They do as their leader says, and Harry finds himself nearly squashed between the two large guys. "I'd like to relay my offer."

"What offer," comments Harry, a little bewildered this is even happening.

"My offer," repeats the platinum-blond boy.

Harry tries to remember what was said earlier, "You just said that my choice of friends were the wrong sort and that you'd gladly help me get the right sort."

Draco gives a fair look, seeming to understand why Harry would be upset, "Let's not focus on your poor sense of judgement. That can be fixed with time." He sees anger appear on Harry's face. "All I meant to say is that the Weasleys don't know how to stay out of trouble, and that it would be best if you chose someone else to be with."

Harry only replies with a cynical, "I don't trust you."

Malfoy shrugs, "You don't have to." He just gestures his head around the table, "But this is a house full of ambition. People here will see a legend like you, think you're in their way, and attempt to take you out of the equation. I'm just saying, having a friend could be useful."

Harry watches as the hat comments with playful disgust, "Another Weasley. I know just what to do with you."

He sees the look of relief on Ron's face after he had been assigned to his family house of Gryffindor, before Harry frowns back at Malfoy, "You're right. I could use someone who's in the same house I'm in." Draco smiles, but Harry continues before the boy can speak, "But I'd still like to remain friends with Ron, assuming that being put in Slytherin hasn't tarnished his thought of me."

Malfoy's smile turns to annoyance, "Fine. We're housemates, but you can talk to others while we're outside of the dormitory or not sitting here."

Harry gives a pleased look, although he had meant to keep an even expression, "Then we have a deal." He turns back and sees there's only one person left to sort. The dark-skinned boy looked calm, attempting to straighten his shoulders, as he was called up to the hat. _I do suppose this would be considered a big milestone for many. Going to a school to learn magic when you're born into a family of magic, I guess, would kind of be like getting a license after watching the rest of your family drive a car for years._ Harry watches as the hat calls out Slytherin and how Blaise Zabini was easily able to find a seat next to a black-haired girl with fair skin. _I think her name was Parkinson?_ Harry looked at them longingly, only wishing he were as comfortable of the situation as they seemed to be. It was only a house, right?

"Don't be so glum, Potter. This will have been the best decision you have ever made."

Harry hears Malfoy but doesn't respond his doubts, as he sees Dumbledore rise to his feet with a smile upon his face. "Welcome. Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words."

"Of course, he would," mumbles Malfoy.

"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" The headmaster pauses for a second, "Thank you!"

When the headmaster sat down, Harry saw many people around the hall clap their cheers, but all he could hear was Malfoy complaining, "Beyond his years, people say. I say when you live as long as he has you lose all your sense."

Harry sees Crabbe and Goyle nod, but Harry himself didn't know what to think. He's about to ask how old Dumbledore was, but then he sees the banquet appear before his eyes and his jaw drops, "I've never seen so much food in my whole life!"

Malfoy shrugs, "Just one of the perks of attending the supposedly best wizarding school in Europe."

"What do you mean, supposedly best," asks Harry as he fills his plates with smashed potatoes and turkey legs.

"My father was going to send me to the Durmstrang Institute in Scandinavia, because they offer courses which aren't allowed here. They also have pride in pure-blood status, so my father thought that not only would I be guaranteed to be let in but also that it may have helped me feel confident in our family's history and achievements."

"So, why didn't you go?"

Malfoy laughs in annoyance, "Well, apparently they have a bad reputation for doing all the things my father thought would help me the most. I guess, in the end, he just thought appearances and reputation were more important than skill and confidence." Draco sees Harry's plate is empty and that French fries, bacon, and sausage were now replacing what he had before. "Save room. For banquets they give out three courses: the first as proteins and carbs, the second as fruits, veggies, and jellies, and the third as cakes, ice-creams, and nuts."

"So, no chocolate frogs," asks harry as he chews his bacon.

"I'm sure they will fit in other things somewhere, although they may not think it best to have enchanted jumping food in the hall."

"Right," comments Harry with a full mouth.

Malfoy gives a look of slight disgust, "Okay, if you're going to eat with me, you're going to have to try some etiquette."

"What, you mean like knowing which spoon to use," questions Harry.

"No. You will only need to know that if you have dinner at my manor with my father." He shakes his head, "No. All I'm asking is for you to talk in-between eating." He mumbles as his eyes shift to the side, "I don't understand why people think they can talk and eat at the same time anyway. It's not like anyone can understand a word that's said then."  
"Harry swallows the remnants of what was in his mouth and asks, "Is this better?" after he had taken a sip of orange juice.

"Better," mumbles Malfoy.

As Harry is about to grab a bun a ghost with black eyes stands in front of the plate, "Boy. What's wrong with you? You act as if you hadn't eaten in months." He eyes Harry as he bends down, "Hmm, you kind of look like it as well."

Harry wasn't sure if he should respond, as he noticed the fencing sword the ghost had held; however, he figured that since both it and the ghost were translucent it couldn't do that much damage. "That's not too far off," Harry comments with lack of confidence. _If this were a regular stranger and if the Dursleys were here, then by now I would have been hit on the shoulder with the rest of the family laughing it away with their own reasoning or excuses._ "I've lived with my aunt and uncle, but they favor their son, Dudley." Harry shakes his head, "He takes everything I want, just because I want it. Some dinners I'm lucky if I'm left with a cup of potatoes and some corn. If there's nothing left for me they bring out the beats or dried-out bread, expecting me to eat that instead."

The ghost lets out an exasperated breath, "Those monsters deserve to be chained!"

Harry sees the ghost's chains, "Were you punished for something?"

Malfoy speaks for the ghost, "He killed Helena Ravenclaw, because she didn't love him. The blood on his shirt is why people call him Bloody Baron, as he once held the title of a baron."

Harry gives a shocked look, "You killed someone because they didn't love you?"

The ghost moves down through the table so that only those of that house would be able to notice the tears on his face, "It all happened so fast. I was so mad I just had no control of it, and in the end I did punish myself by taking my own life." Harry can't find any words, so the baron wipes the tears away, does a loud intimidating voice, and flies over the grand hall as he pretends to fight off enemies with his sword. If Harry would have sat at any other table he may have assumed this to be playfulness, but since he's here he knows the truth.

"It's a sad thing, really," comments Malfoy. "He still loves her, you know. Sometimes he just doesn't know whether to feel mad or sad." He grabs a bun and dips it into some gravy, "It's the most tragic tale I know."

"Well, there's always _Romeo and Juliet_ ," responds Harry. "But if we're talking about real life, then yeah, you'd be right."

"What's Romeo and Juliet?"

Harry takes a bun as well, "It's just this old story by Shakespeare. It's a book commonly read by muggles, so you may not know it."

Malfoy looks at his empty plate, as if mulling it over, "You would be surprised how many old Muggle authors were actually wizards. If we're lucky it's stashed in my father's library, and if so I will tell you what I think."

"It's a romantic tragedy."

"That's the best kind," Malfoy smiles as the course switches over to fruits and jellies. He grabs some chocolate pudding and strawberries, "What makes you think I'm not a romantic?"

Harry shrugs as he takes some peanut butter celeries, "I don't know. You just seem kind of hard, like you couldn't care less about things."

It only takes a second for Malfoy to respond, "Well, you kind of give off the impression of being a self-righteous prick, so neither of us is quite what we seem are we?"

Harry sits silent for a while. Is this really how he presented himself? _I'm not any better than anyone else; in fact, in many ways I'm worse. I could be considered a freak in many regards._ He turns his head away from Malfoy, almost in shame, and his eyes lock on the teachers' table. The table was on a platform, and everyone from Dumbledore to Hagrid to Quirrell sat there. His eyes watch the teacher who sits next to Quirrell, as he seemed to have a darkness surround him. Harry takes a moment to take in the dark apparel as well, which consisted of the usual black robes but his hair and eyes were also black. His skin on the other hand was rather pale.

Malfoy watches as Harry reaches for his forehead in sudden pain, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry says in a raspy breath as the pain fades. He sees Malfoy open his mouth, but he didn't feel like answering questions he didn't have answers for when he had his own to ask, "Who's that teacher next to Professor Quirrell?"

Malfoy seems almost concerned, but then his expression switches as he answers, "That's Professor Snape. He's in charge of our house." He sees Harry's eyes move back to the teacher's table, "Be careful, Potter. I hear he can be rather ruthless." He takes some dessert in the form of chocolate squares and pumpkin pie, "It's going to take you a lot more than fame or being a possible favorite in order to make him happy."

"What does he teach?" Harry's eyes remain on Snape.

"Potions, but I hear he's a lot better at the dark arts and the defense of it."

Harry sees Snape meet his eyes and so he quickly looks back to Malfoy, "If he's better at the defense of the dark arts, then why is he teaching potions?"

Malfoy shrugs, "Maybe it's harder to find someone who's good at Potions." He pauses and finishes his dessert. "Or maybe they just don't trust him with the job."

Harry whispers, "Why wouldn't they trust him with it?" as the final course disappears and all the dishes appear as clean as when they had started.

Malfoy takes a moment, as if deciding if he should say anything, "Well, like I said, he does a fine job with the dark arts as well, which isn't allowed here. And, also, it's thought that he was a follower of Voldemort."

Harry's mouth opens in surprise, but when he's about to ask another question he hears Dumbledore speak. "Ahern - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you." Harry looks over at the headmaster. "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Malfoy sniggers as he sees Dumbledore's eyes looking at the Gryffindor's table, "I told you they couldn't stay out of trouble."

Harry ignores Malfoy as Dumbledore continues to speak. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors." He pauses and then continues, "Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch." There's another pause, and Harry thinks it sounds an awful lot like he's just reading from a list. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry smiles, about to laugh, but then he sees the look on Malfoy's face, "What? He's not serious."

"Teachers are very serious creatures." Malfoy smirks, "And I've heard enough stories about the forest not to doubt the chance that something may have gotten in. Maybe they just have it locked up there until someone can take it back to the forest during holiday. That way there's less of a chance of someone getting hurt and the headmaster's reputation being tarnished."

Harry nods in thought. _It does make sense._

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song," exclaims Dumbledore. He gave his wand a little flick, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, spinning words into the air. Harry only mouthed the words as others sang. It seemed like the song focused on learning things, assuming you lost knowledge over the summer.

An irritated, snort-like noise came from Malfoy, "If they want us to learn and keep information, then they should let us practice outside of the school." He sees Harry's confusion, "Oh. Didn't you know?" The sarcasm in his voice was evident. "You're not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts until after you graduate."

Harry shakes his head, "What? But Hermione just told me on the train that she's done nothing but practice over the summer, and she fixed my glasses too. She said a lot of spells work for her."

Draco is quiet for a moment, and Harry wonders if Malfoy feels as behind in magic as he does. "They don't punish first years, as they often haven't been told the rule yet." His eyes stare down at the table, "I also imagine they think that first years will become excited to learn if they try a few spells they may not have learned until months later if otherwise."

Suddenly, Harry notices people standing, lining up to leave, "Where are we going?"

"We're expected to go to our dorm and stay there until breakfast tomorrow, although many choose to sleep in until class starts instead."

Harry stands, "What if another announcement needs to be done?"

"Announcements are made during dinner, which is seen as required but you won't get into trouble if you decide to skip it, let's say to turn in early or do homework instead."

Harry nods and as soon as he knew it, they had arrived and entered the Slytherin common room. It was long, and the walls and ceiling were made of stone. Green lanterns hung from the ceiling by chains, and a few high-back chairs surrounded the fireplace. On the right of the fireplace was a sloping concrete floor, and above it a green banner read _Girls_ in silver. Harry looks to the left of the fireplace and sees it's the same for the boys.

"Come on," exerts Malfoy and so Harry, as well as Crabbe and Goyle, follow him down the candle-lit hall. There were signs on the doors indicating which year the dorm belonged to, but it seemed that the oldest years were towards the common room and the younger years were put in the back of the hall. The doors were also so spread out, Harry found himself bored and exhausted by the time they finally reached their dorm.

Harry found his things placed in front of a bed, so he assumed it to be his and had sat down upon it. However, he had only been sitting for a moment when Goyle comments, "I think there's been a mistake. We should switch beds."

Harry gives a questioning look, but before he can ask questions Malfoy responds, "No. It's fine, Goyle."

"But Draco, your father—"

"I don't care about my father," Draco interrupts. "He's too cautious. I've finally gotten away, or at least as away as I could get, so I'd like to make some of my own decisions. Thank you very much." He turns and sees Harry's confusion, "My father has made quite a few enemies over the years. He's afraid I'll get hurt."

Harry sees the two large, almost strong, boys claim the two beds on the other side of Draco's, "So, what then? They're your bodyguards?"

Malfoy shrugs, "I would like to believe they're my friends, but I know my father well enough to wonder if he just paid them to be."

Harry nods, although he's still having a hard time grasping the idea, and then he takes out his potions book to study. At first it seems that Draco doesn't like to be ignored, but after some time he's going through his own items and explaining to Crabbe and Goyle that he needs to come up with a scheme to become most well-known student of his year. Harry hears him say, "Not to steal your thunder or anything, Potter."

"No. Of course, not." Harry looks up from his book for a moment and notices Malfoy scribbling on a piece of parchment. It was all he could do not to distract from his studies and get involved in whatever they were saying, but he forces his eyes back to the book anyway. _I don't know how I'm supposed to remember all of this. It's just a big list with extended paragraphs on what is used for a specific potion and what properties the ingredient gives off in that specific potion._ The more he reads, the more Harry realizes that an ingredient's properties can be altered just by adding different items to the potion. All of this was frustrating him so much and giving him a headache that although he hadn't realized it was already really dark, he was gratefully glad that he could put it away and just get to sleep. _This must be the best bed I've ever had._


	2. The Ceremony

\- Please excuse my Latin, as I have no proper knowledge of the language. I had to resort to translators, and although I spent a long time making sure it somewhat translated okay in either direction, if anyone has a better translation then feel free to comment it with an explanation. Otherwise, ignore and enjoy. - For those confused, this may be a spoiler, but Harry has had some skills transferred from Voldemort through his scar. This being said, since many spells are in Latin I felt that he had to at least subconsciously know the language.

* * *

"Slytherin," called out the hat with a maniacal laugh.

"Come join me, Potter." Harry turns and sees Malfoy standing in front of him, wearing the Hogwarts black cloak with the green and silver Slytherin tie. "It will have been the best decision you've ever made."

Harry takes a step back and turns around, but when he does Snape appears. "What are you doing, Potter? You're going to miss the ceremony."

"Ceremony," mutters Harry.

"The Ceremony." Snape's smile was long and twisted, and Harry couldn't help but compare it to that of a snake's.

"Well, what are you waiting for," yells Malfoy. Harry sees the graveyard scene set out in front of him, before he looks down and notices a dagger with a snake design on the handle. "You want to be recognized as a pureblood, don't you? You want to prove to us you're as good as a full wizard?"

"Harry." He hears the whisper and turns his head up to see Hermione tied up to the large gravestone with vines. "Help me."

Harry stands in shock, but Malfoy doesn't waste a second, "What are you waiting for? Do it already."

He looks over at Malfoy and mumbles, "What am I supposed to do?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten." Harry only shrugs. "Okay, just follow what I say." Harry waits. "Walk up to her." Harry does so and Draco continues, "Guide the dagger from over her knees to over her forehead, while saying 'Ego pura. Ego vero." He pauses so Harry can say it and then continues. "I am pure. I am true."

Harry does as he's instructed, so Draco continues, "Now move the dagger horizontally across her arm span while saying 'Ego me manere lex per qui dictate. I abide the laws by he who rules.'" Harry does it. "Now stab her in the heart."

"Wait. What," exclaims Harry as he turns back to Malfoy. "That can't possibly be allowed. I thought this was just some weird hazing thing to prove myself to the rest of the house."

Malfoy smirks, "Come on. You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"

Harry hears Hermione attempt to scream, but when he looks back she no longer has a mouth. "I can't do this." He drops the silver dagger and backs away from it all; however, it's then his back bumps into Snape.

He turns around just in time to hear the teacher say, "Oh. No. The Lord will certainly not be happy with you."

"I don't care what God thinks," yells Harry. "If you remember, then you'd know he orders witches to be murdered by stones."

Snape laughs, "I wasn't speaking of him." He steps away to reveal a shadowy figure, the figure so thin the wand's hand looks to be only of bone. "I was talking about him."

"Voldemort," Harry mutters as he backs away. He searches for his wand, but he's unable to find it. It also occurs to him that even if he had a wand he wouldn't know any spells.

"Avada Kedavra," screams the ragged figure, and all that's left is a green light.


	3. Expectations

"Bad dream?"

Harry finds himself trying to catch his breath as he hears Malfoy's words. Once he does he answers, "Something about a dagger and Snape, and there was a green light."

Malfoy motions to the hanging green lanterns and towards the window, which either had green tinted glass or showed a lake through it, "Big surprise there."

Harry nods, thinking that the lights could have interfered with his dream, but then he has a sudden realization. He turns to Malfoy, "I'm not going to have to prove myself to the house, am I?" He looks down, "I mean, I'm not going to have to do anything against school rules or possibly just embarrass myself?"

Malfoy smirks, "Hazing hasn't been allowed at Hogwarts for decades. I think you'll be okay."

"Right," Harry tries to reassure himself.

Draco stands, "Well, come on. We should get ready. It's almost time for class."

Harry groans, "What happened to breakfast?"

Draco smirks, "You missed it. Come on or we may be late."

* * *

Harry soon comes to realize that even the magical classes weren't as interesting as he thought they'd be. On Thursdays he has 10 A.M Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell, 11 A.M. History of Magic with the only ghost teacher: Professor Binns, and after lunch he would have 1P.M. Herbology with Sprout and 2 P.M. Charms with Flitwick. Apparently he was also expected to stay up until midnight to look through the telescope for astronomy. Of course, it wasn't just looking through a telescope; there was also paperwork to be done.

"So, what was your favorite class," Malfoy asked when they were finally able to sleep.

"I don't know," mutters Harry. "Charms, maybe, but I can't be sure until I've attended every class. Malfoy only nods in response, before they turn in for the night.

The next day didn't start out much different. Harry had wanted to wake up in time for breakfast, but Astronomy had really worn him out. He did make it to class on time, however. It was Snape's Potions class, which would take place for two hours. Malfoy encouraged Harry to sit next to him, but Harry did spot Ron and Hermione. He smiled at them hopefully, but Ron immediately turned his head away and Hermione was left mouthing, "Sorry."

Snape started the class with a monologue of instructions. _More like the introduction to a movie, really._ He went over how wands would be taken away if seen, as the class didn't require one. Everything he said was enforced with such importance that Harry felt compelled to write it down, but apparently that wasn't a good idea. Harry found the professor towering above him, but he must not have been close enough to see what was written.

"Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Harry just shakes his head. "What, you don't know? Okay, let's try again. Tell me, Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?

"I don't know, Sir."

"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfs bane?"

Harry shakes his head, "I swear, I literally just read that the other night. I just— I can't remember anything."

"Well, clearly, fame isn't everything." Snape pauses as he stares down on Harry, "Tell me, did you think that I would treat you differently just because of your fame, or was your lack of attention due to not appreciating the fine art that is potion making?"

Harry hurries, "I was only taking notes, Sir." and holds up the parchment to prove so.

"Hmm." Snape turns his back on Harry, walks closer to the blackboard, and then turns to speak to the class, "I am aware you all took primary school to learn maths and language, some may have even attended muggle schools, but I tell you now." He looks from Harry to Hermione to Finnegan, "There will be no note taking in this class. This, like that of wand practice and incantations, need to be memorized properly, because if you mix up the ingredients you may create the opposite of what you intended. And I don't want any explosions or deaths on my watch, got it?"

The entire class falls silent, but since Hermione's hand has been ignored for a while she interrupts, "Excuse me, Professor." Snape turns to her sharply. "I'm all for memorization, but isn't it easier to learn the more you write it down?"

"No, miss Granger. I actually find that ink and parchment make people lazy and passive in learning." He addresses the entire class, "This is an introductory class, so you may use the books as reference for many of your in-class assignments; however, there is an end of term exam in which you make a potion purely by memory and without reference." He gives the worried faces even more condensation, "That being said, don't think you can just read from a list and be done. You have to work to learn."

"Sir, you mentioned potion making as in-class assignments." She slightly pauses in unsureness, "What exactly is the homework?"

"I'm glad you asked," Snape smiles evilly. He turns away to pick up a large stack of parchment packets, "Ten pages back to back. You will get these weekly, so I expect them done by every Friday morning." He plops them on Hermione's desk, "Pass them around, will you?" He emphasizes to the entire class, "If you do not complete the packet by the time you receive the new one, then you will get a zero on the old one."

Harry saw Hermione shoot him a look, as if to indicate needing help or to express worry, but he turns to his right when Malfoy comments, "If we each do half it will get done twice as fast."

Harry doesn't have enough time to respond to either of them, as Professor Snape has started to speak again. "This is today's assignment. It's a very simple coloration potion. Your goal is to find the right combination of ingredients that create a color associated with your house. As extra incentive, it will be at least partially placed in your hair, so if you don't want to go bald you better pay attention."

Millicent Bestrode comments with what seems to be either concern or confusion, "How are we supposed to know how to mix the ingredients together? All you have up there is a list."

Snape's eyes role to the ceiling as he takes an annoyed breath, "If anyone needs guidance page 24 should do you well." He points, "They're in the fourth cupboard." Half the students rushed to the corner in order to get their group a book, and Snape was left yelling above the Ruckus, "You only have four months to rely on the books, so don't get too comfortable."

By the time class had ended Harry, Malfoy, Hermione, and Ron had passed the assignment. Crabbe and Goyle did too, but they mostly just watched Harry's and Draco's work. Out of the rest of the class only one third had succeeded. The ones who didn't only got half the points, but those who passed not only got full points but were also able to gloat just by how a part of their hair would be their house color. Harry shakes his head at the sight of Draco's hair, "Green looks way better on you."

Malfoy smirks, "I know." but the compliment appears to have given him confidence.

Harry sees Hermione about to walk past them, "Hey. Red really suits you."

"Thanks," she calls before running off somewhere else.

During lunch Draco and Harry just spent much of the time discussing how they should split the potions problems, while Malfoy also gloated a little to the nearby house members about his achievement. It was nice, but Harry couldn't help but stare off at the Gryffindor's table, curious as to what they would be doing or saying. He did notice Hermione smiling as she ran a hand down the red streak in her hair, but even with that it's hard to infer what's going on there.

"Potter. Can you hear me?"

Harry shakes his head around in confusion, "Huh." as he looks for the sound, and he's met with a very irritated look from Malfoy. "What did you say?"

Draco is quiet for a moment and his eyes show his annoyance, "I was just telling everyone how you caught the ingredient mix-up just in time. Apparently you didn't hear."

"Sorry." And Harry was sorry to have missed an actual compliment coming from the mouth of someone who had a tendency to question his ideas and choices. "I was just thinking of where to find Hermione, so I may speak to her without Ron around."

"Why," one of the older guys asks. "You going to reel her in for the big catch?"

Harry gives a face at his nonsense, as he sees the guy high-fiving a clear friend and saying something about how fresh fruit is the best fruit. "Reel her in for what and what?" They look back at him. "I just want to talk with her. Her and Ron were friendly to me on the train, and although Ron seems to think all Slytherins are nothing but pure evil, Hermione seems to be more on speaking terms than I could have hoped for."

The other guy laughs, "I bet she'd be very friendly."

An older girl comments in near rage, "Would you fuckers stop it. He's a first year. He's not going to understand many, if any, of the phrases you're using, let alone be ready to 'catch any fish'." She looks kindly at Harry with her sapphire eyes, her wavy hair just a few shades lighter than Hermione's. "Who exactly are you talking about?"

Harry straightens and lifts his head so that he can see the Gryffindor's table over Malfoy's head, "The last table over there. There's a girl with similar hair to yours, except for a red streak."

"She's probably sitting next to those red headed Weasleys," Malfoy adds in loathing.

"Oh. Her," the older girl realizes. "I think I've seen her in the library a few times. She had many books checked out, though, so she may not be there for a while."

"The library. Of course." Harry shakes his head, "I'm such an idiot."

"At least you're admitting to it," comments Draco. "That's the important thing."

Harry can't tell if that was intended to be a joke or not. _Maybe it was a joke but that Malfoy just has too much in his head to make it funny._ "You got up earlier than me, didn't you? Like you had breakfast or something?"

"I just came down long enough to get the post," Malfoy mumbles.

"It was so cool," another bloke says with amazement. "He got this ink that changes color as you write and another type of ink that's invisible until it's placed near a fire."

"Don't forget the fizzing whizbees," comments another.

"Or the toothflossing stringmints," continues Draco with an unimpressed expression. "If he's giving me candy he's also going to find a way for me to floss, and enchanted floss that has good taste and involves no work would work for anyone."

"You don't seem very happy with the gifts," comments Harry.

Malfoy shrugs, "I thought when I got to Hogwarts that I could start being my own person, you know, but it's my first week here and I already got a letter from Father— a letter filled with nothing but orders, shoulds and don'ts, and expectations." He pauses but no one speaks. Some who were listening before actually continued on with their own conversations. "The gifts are nice, but I suspect he's either giving me the presents to help establish my reputation here or to use it for what he thinks it should be used for. For instance, he said he's going to keep me properly updated on all pureblood matters, whatever that means, and he wants me to send my responses in invisible ink."

"That sounds very secretive," speculates Harry. "Are you sure you're supposed to say anything at all?"

He shrugs, "It's not like I'm reviling details of the letters, although you're right. I shouldn't say anything more after this."

Harry nods but then hesitates to reply, "You're free to give vague explanations if you like. It must not be easy—" He doesn't know what to really say, "Is it your blood status that's stressing you out, or is it just how controlling your father seems to be right now?"

Draco stares at his plate, "My family's name is one of a few names which indicate pureblood status." He looks up, "My history lessons may have held more details than yours, since muggles don't know what happened when things were caused by wizards, but surely you're aware of clans and royalty." Harry nods, and so then does Draco back. "It's kind of like that. We are expected to hold the same beliefs, we have the same expectations, and so our status isn't tainted those with the family names have to marry within these—" He lifts his hands up and smiles as he offers, "Clans."

It's quiet for a moment before Harry asks, "Do you think your father wouldn't be so tough on you if you weren't part of these clans?"

Draco thinks for a moment, "He'd probably still expect a lot from me, but I feel like it would be a little less and that then I could have been a little more my own person." Before they knew it the hour was over and the meal disappeared. Draco stands up, "Come on. We have to get to Quirrell's class."

The rest of their day went by rather fast, what with their next two classes already having been taken and so the introductions and expectations could be skipped. They don't have astronomy either, which leaves Harry feeling lighter and happier at the end of the school day; however, when they got back to their dorm Draco and Harry decided it would be best to finish the potions packet that night so they didn't have to worry about it the next week when the other classes may hand out more homework. "Snape is cruel," comments Harry as they begin copying each other's answers. "An entire packet on our first day. Couldn't he have waited a week?"

Draco is distracted as he has to read and copy Harry's answers to the first five pages, "I kind of understand it. I mean, Potions is dangerous." He pauses as he comes to the essay question and has to reword it. "He means us well."

Harry takes a big breath as he shakes his head, "I just wish he would give less homework."

"Could be worse. I hear that depending on how far you get in Potions, the class can either be given three or five packets a week."

Harry's mouth drops, "Like I said, he's cruel!"

Malfoy smirks, "Maybe, but we wouldn't be Slytherins if we couldn't find a way to get through it." He passes Harry his packet, "It's your turn."

Harry relaxes some, but as he copies the last five pages he's unsure if he likes how far things are already going, "It's our first week and we're already cheating."

"Don't think of it as cheating," Malfoy's eyes squint. "We're just determined enough to not let homework ruin our time here. Besides, wouldn't you feel good if at the end of next week if we were a couple of the only ones who were actually able to finish the entire thing?"

Harry takes a relaxing breath and nods. He continues to write down the answers, but he pauses for a moment "Are you sure about this? Unicorn blood is silver? It's not red, blue, or even yellow or white?"

"I know it's weird. Most animals do have red, blue, or purple blood, but I did find it in the book. There's an entire section dedicated to its properties."

Harry nods, not wanting to think about anyone dissecting a unicorn to find any of that out. He focuses for a couple minutes to finish faster, and soon the books are put away and they're lying on their beds. Harry comments, "It's midnight. Is every night going to be like this?"

Draco shrugs, "Probably. Classes don't even start until 10 A.M."

There's a pause as Harry thinks, "I'm going to go to the library tomorrow, see if Hermione is there."

Draco is silent for a moment, "Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know," answers Harry. "Maybe just the deal. It's not like I've been able to find time away from you or the dorm anyway. I guess I just thought I should tell you."

Draco pauses, seemingly lost in thought, "I know we made a deal, but you are your own person. It's nice you're telling me, it really is, but you don't have to if you don't want to." Harry doesn't respond, so Malfoy continues, "Do you think she will accept you?"

Harry nods, but it's unseen, "I don't know if she feels sorry for me or if she's just smart enough to not let stereotypes get into her head, but I think I do have a chance to have her as a friend."

Malfoy nods, "Must be nice."

"You know, you can have friends too: try to make ones your father didn't give you."

He takes a solemn breath and shakes his head, "It's better like this. You can't trust anybody, and at least I know my father approves of these two." He looks over at their beds, ready to explain they aren't only rubbish to him, but they're asleep so he continues to Harry, "I would just like to have a real conversation with someone, something smart or meaningful." He hesitates to continue, "That's part of the reason I'm glad to have you."

"Thanks. I guess," Harry mutters before he turns over and goes to sleep. After seeing everyone else asleep, Malfoy has no choice but to follow suit; however, his thoughts race for some unknown reason. He looks from Harry to the gift his father gave him, before he attempts to release the stress with a breath and go to sleep. It doesn't work, though, and he remains restless for the next hour. When he does dream it's of his father releasing a snake onto him, the boa constructor wrapping around him and his neck until he can no longer breathe.


	4. Slytherin

-I apologize ahead for any misspellings or any weird capitalization, or just mistakes in general, whether it be in this chapter or later chapters. Hopefully it's not bad enough to distract from the story, but as I found many mistakes in the last three chapters as I reread them, I felt the need to address it. I did replace those chapters, but for those who want a laugh: 1) I misspelled sapphire and capitalized it, maybe mixing sapphire and Slytherin, 2)I had forgotten to capitalize Potions several times, since it is a class which would be considered, unless I'm mistaken, a proper noun, 3)I mixed up some endings such as "that seems very secretly", instead of "that sounds very secret". I hope these make you laugh, and although I can't promise I will find mistakes before posting, I promise that once I find them while rereading (or if someone finds something so confusing to feel the need to review it) then I will correct the mistakes to the best of my ability. Thank you and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

In the library Hermione has several books laid out, the pages containing pictures and information of the Slytherin house history and how the sorting hat works. "I don't know why you're trying so hard," says Ron. "Every Slytherin turns out evil. All that anger the hat sensed in him, that could just be the start of it all. He could be the worst thing since You-Know-Who. After all, how did he survive? Maybe You-Know-Who is actually Harry in disguise, like some reincarnation or something."

Hermione gives him an unbelieving look, her mouth slightly agape, "You're being paranoid again, Ron."

The ginger boy just shakes his head, "No. You're just in denial. You've seen the lot they take in. You know how horrible they are."

Hermione smiles when she sees Millicent Bulstrode walk up to her. "Hey. Are you still coming to that study group later?"

Hermione sees Ron's horrid, disbelieving look, before she comments, "Yes. Thank you." The black-haired girl nods a smile before heading out of the library.

"Are you utterly insane? A Slytherin," he shouts.

The librarian shushes them, and Hermione continues in an infuriated whisper, "For your information, the Ravenclaws invited her to the study group and she only asked me because she saw how I was struggling with my Potion's packet." She takes another deep breath, "They're not all bad, Ron." She points to the spread-out books, "A previous headmaster Phineas Black, although sometimes ignorantly discriminatory to the muggle born, did support muggle rights and was disowned because of it."

"Pff," huffs Ron. "That's one example. I bet you can't find another."

Hermione squints her eyes and smiles, as she very calmly replies, "Merlin. There's an entire section here dedicated to him." Hermione points to the open book, "He created an order, which made strides in muggle rights and rules to limit magic on them."

Ron huffs and keeps his arms crossed, "Wizards know nothing about Merlin, not enough to speculate if he was nothing but a silly myth, and if he was real he certainty wasn't a Slytherin."

Hermione strains her smile as she takes a calming breath, "The organization turned into a simple award over time. The first ribbon given out was green, if they still aren't today."

"Green. That doesn't mean anything." Ron appears almost angry as he looks over all the volumes she's taken out. "Maybe you should spend less time with books and more time in the real world." He turns to leave, but when he gets to the library's doorway he sees Harry standing there. He just shakes his head in annoyance, before he passes him and continues with his day.

Harry sees a hurt and disappointed look on Hermione's face, but she begins a smile as he starts to walk up to her. "What was that about?"

Hermione laughs with hurt, "Nothing. He just thinks I should be spending my time with more than just books."

Harry smiles at all that's laid out and shrugs, "At least you're reading nonfiction. When I found time to check out a book from the school's library, it would always be some fantasy of a better life which I could just delve myself into."

She sees Harry's smile fade, "I heard what you said to the hat, and I just want to say sorry." She looks at the books before turning back to him, "And, there have been good Slytherins. If you're worried about how you will turn out, don't be." She pauses to smile, "And like the hat said, all that anger and hurt you feel— if what it said is true, Slytherin could be very good for you."

Harry nods, speculating it may already have, "Thank you, Hermione."

"No problem," she smiles. She looks back at the books with a very stressed breath, "I couldn't get it out of my head, I just had to look it up. But if I thought it would be hard to finish all my homework before, I'm certain now I won't be able to."

Harry shrugs questioningly, "Well, if it's the Potion's packet you're speaking of, I do have it done, if you wanted to get some help."

She gives a shocked look, "How do you already have it done?"

He shrugs again, "Malfoy and I worked on it together."

Hermione smiles teasingly, "What, did you just split the pages and copy each other's answers or something?"

Harry tries to smile, but the guilt floods through, "It does take an hour per page, if you're wondering. I'd be happy to help you out."

Hermione blinks as her smile widens, "I don't trust anyone nearly enough to do that, and besides, I'm sure our exam is a personal one so I do want to work to learn."

"Even if it means not completing it in time," questions Harry.

Hermione licks her lips, as if they were dry, "I do have a study session later. I'm sure they're having issues with the packet too. We could all work on it together." She pauses, "I'd be okay with that so long as I can reference the pages they found the answers on."

Harry nods and then comments, "Unicorn blood is silver by the way."

She gives an unsure look, "Are you messing with me. Blood is red. It's always been red."

Harry shrugs, "I got the information from Malfoy. He said it is odd, because— apparently in the wizard world— blood is usually red, blue, or purple."

"I still don't believe it. I'll have to look it up."

"Not right now, though. It's almost lunch." He sees her about to speak, "It really seems like you just want to do your best, but it's the weekend; I think you can wait to study or do homework after lunch."

Hermione nods, "You're right."

Harry nods too, but solemnly, "It's really sad we can't sit together. I feel like I've just spent the last two or three days trying to get a chance to speak with either you or Ron, but I either didn't have the time or couldn't find you guys."

"It's been hard," she says. "I've been preoccupied with class, and Ron and I have had disagreements, and there's just been hardly any time for anything really." She sees Harry's look and continues, "It is good though, isn't it? I mean, I feel like I only got put in Griffendor because I admire bravery more than intelligence, and the hat put you into Slytherin so you could turn the bad things in your life into something good. These things, they can only be learned."

Harry has a hard time determining now if it were really the speed of how she talked that had been hard to follow before, or if it's just been her paragraph long sentences, "I understand, but I feel like I'd understand more if you slowed down or simplified things a little."

"Sorry," Hermione mutters. "I get that a lot."

"Don't worry." Harry smiles, "I'm sure it's just because you're more well-read, and we're all just a bunch of idiots in comparison."

Hermione laughs, "You think so?"

Harry nods, "I know so." They continue to talk in that semi-joking manner, until they reach the great hall and they're forced to their different house tables.


	5. Restricted

Harry spent the majority of the weekend studying with Hermione, but even she had other plans every now and again as the study group seemed to meet every late afternoon. The first few times she left for group Harry figured he should just finish the homework on his own, but by the time she left for Sunday's group Harry had all of his homework done. He thought he could read ahead for class, but this was a library and Harry missed reading something other than school materials. He decided to explore, and when he did a rope which blocked off an isle caught his attention. He walks closer to it, but when he tries to get past it the librarian asks from behind him, "Excuse me. What are you doing?"

Harry fumbles with his words, feeling as if he had just been caught doing something he shouldn't have done, "The isle was blocked. I wanted to look, see what's there."

Her spectacles hang below her grey eyes, "That's the restricted section. Younger years aren't allowed to enter, and any specific books need a teacher's consent to study." She attempts a stern smile, "I'm afraid curiosity is not equivalent to a signed slip."

Harry nods, "Sorry." and when she looks down to her desk he continues. "Could you point me towards the fiction section?"

The librarian gives a confused look, "Hogwarts doesn't allow fiction. There's a section filled with lore and myths, but as a rule we try to keep our library as educational as possible."

Harry's quiet for a moment, "It's fine. I'll find something else to do."

* * *

Harry spent the afternoon exploring Hogwarts and wandering around the large castle. It was rather confusing without having Malfoy as a guide, what with all the moving staircases and the doors which would turn out to be nothing but a wall, but he remembers enough to know how to make it to the great hall in time for dinner. He sits down, only slightly late, but Malfoy seemed to have something to say about it anyway, "I suspect you were with that Granger girl again?" He seemed mostly annoyed or disgusted, but Harry still can't figure out why.

He shakes his head, "Why do you hate her so much."

"I don't hate her," Malfoy comments calmly but there seemed to be some disdain on the word 'hate'.

"Then why don't you like me hanging out with her," asks Harry, slightly desperate.

"Because— because," stammers Malfoy. "Well, because we had a deal. That's why, and because I can actually talk to you, and because— you just, you just shouldn't be spending all your time with girls. That's why."

Harry gives a disbelieving look, "Is that what this is all about? You do know girls don't actually have cooties or anything, right? Like, we are able to hang out with them."

I'm well aware of that, Potter." He takes a moment to distract himself by placing ham, cheese, strawberries, and a chocolate chip muffin onto his plate. "I just don't like how much time you're spending with her, is all."

Harry shakes his head, irritated, "Are you going to give me a straight answer as to why, or are you just going to nibble on your cheese and strawberries again?"

Malfoy gives a challenging look, before he puts down the strawberries and takes a large bite out of the muffin. He takes a large drink of the lemonade to wash it down before smiling as reply. He huffs a laugh, "You think you know me so well, just because you're forced to sit at this table and see my dining habits."

"More like the lack thereof," comments Harry in irritation.

"Says the person who never shows up for breakfast," counters Malfoy.

"Says the person who wakes up in time for breakfast but usually decides to skip it anyway." Draco's smirk slips, as if he has been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. "I've been nearly starved to death, only getting enough food so the doctor wouldn't call child services, and here you are ignoring this grand meal we've been provided."

"I guess I'm just picky, used to better things," Draco lied. The truth was his father was a truly busy person, and although they had dinner at least once a week together, assuming he wasn't away on business, it only consisted of the traditional turkey, bread and gravy, with a few different items and a select dessert. Nothing which really showed his wealth or status, and when he was left alone he would find himself eating nothing but fried dill pickles with ranch and a few candies if he felt like it. "We're preteens," he continues. If we have the choice, we're not going to be eating very healthy anyway."

Harry gives a look, "But when adults mention that it's usually to indicate that kids will eat nothing but crisps, ice cream, and candy if they had the choice, which doesn't happen nearly as often as they think it does." He shrugs off his statement, "But I imagine constant pizza or fast food can't be very good for you either."

Draco ignores the term fast food, assuming it's just another form of unhealthy food. He couldn't help imagining food somehow running away, though, and so he smiles in response, "You better finish your meal before it disappears."

Harry continues to eat, but in-between bites he comments, "We got off track. This isn't about your pickiness. This is about why you don't want me to spend time with Hermione."

Draco has just finished off his strawberries and cheese, before he answers with a frown, "I don't know why." He pauses, "I guess I just wish you had more time to spend with me."

Harry nods, "Well, I imagine that during the week we will be spending plenty of time together, so you don't have to worry about that."

It takes a moment for Draco to reply, "It's different during class. In class it's rather impersonal; we only talk about the assignment really, and even when we've found spare time we haven't really been asking anything about each other." Harry looks up but doesn't speak. "We haven't asked each other our favorite colors, where we live and what we've done there, or even just what we like and dislike about certain classes." He sees Harry about to speak, "We've just complained a lot, which I don't mind and rather enjoy actually, but we haven't actually discussed much of anything."

Harry nods in thought, "I guess I was just so focused on where and who I was spending my time with that I ignored how that time was being spent. I hope you understand. I just thought that since I didn't see Hermione much during the class week that I could at least hang out with her over the weekend. If this really bothers you, I could find some time over the weekends to hang out with you too, but I can't just stop being friends with her."

"I would really appreciate that."

Harry can't tell if it's hurt or hate in Draco's eyes, but he manages to respond with a smile, "Draco Malfoy, a sentimentalist. Who would have thought?"

"Shut up. I'm not that sensitive," denies Malfoy.

"You sure about that," Harry nearly laughs.

Malfoy sneers, "I'm very sure of it." and Harry is only left laughing it off as they continue the meal; although, for the most part, Malfoy just plays with the remains of his food thoughtfully. He does take another bite of the muffin and finish off his drink before it's time for the food to disappear, but once again the only thing he actually finished completely is the fruit and cheese.


	6. A Good Start

Monday starts off well, as Harry had asked Draco to wake him up in time for breakfast. Draco was going to go back to the dorm after the post, but Harry convinced him to stay and chat instead. Malfoy decided to take an apple and some orange juice, but mostly he just talked with Harry until the hour was over. Crabbe and Goyle were ecstatic to finally have breakfast, rather than follow Malfoy back to the safely of the dorm, and it showed through their large consumption of bacon and fruit-muffins. Their indulgence clearly disgusted Malfoy to some degree, but to his credit he didn't say anything about it.

After breakfast they only have fifteen minutes to gather their Potions and Herbology materials before their first hour begins. Lucky for them, classes like Potions and Defense against the Dark Arts would take place in the dungeon, not far from where their house is. The first hour was with the Gryffindors again, and although Harry did receive a genuine smile from Hermione, Ron only glared at him with questioning hate and disappointment. They weren't that far away from each other, so Harry complains, "Come on, Ron. After I was sorted I asked the hat to change its mind, but it was convinced Slytherin would do me the most good."

"Slytherin does no one any good," mutters Ron.

Snape had stood from his desk to start the class, but at hearing Ron's words Snape walks up to tower over him, "Is that right, ?" Ron only gulps in fear. "If that's so, then why is it that the only people to have gotten the packet done over the weekend include , , and Miss Bulstrode?"

Hermione looks back at her study partner in shock, "You finished it?"

The Slytherin girl whispers, "I felt I had to."

"But how?"

The girl remains quiet, and Snape sneers to Ron, "Slytherins are ambitious. You would learn a thing or two if you even managed to acknowledge them."

"Hey," yells Ron in defense. "I wasn't about to spend my entire weekend doing some stupid packet."

"Ten points from Gryffindor," shouts Snape.

"That's not fair!"

Snape keeps a calm demeanor, although his voice tells a different story, "These packets you're each doing could be the difference between life and death, which is why the more advanced years get even more of them. I may dislike the constant act of taking notes, but Miss Granger was right before about how reviewing something enough encourages memorization." He nods his head down to her, "And I do appreciate it when students take the packets serious enough to at least start them over the weekend." He turns to Ron, "Rather than spending the entire weekend doing dares and experimenting with dangerous candies."

Hermione gives Ron a look and whispers, "Seriously." but he just shrugs it off.

"Excuse me," asks Harry. "But how do you know all these things?"

Snape smiles, "I know these things, because I know everything." he stresses. He rounds about toward the blackboard, perhaps to get a better view of the class. "I realize the in-class assignments can be challenging to those new to this science, which is why whenever someone completes the packet by Monday I give them a little extra credit. Those of you who have finished, you may turn them in for that extra credit. The rest of you— you have until Friday morning to finish."

By the end of Potions Harry and Draco were feeling pretty good about themselves, but they had Herbology next which is taken with the Ravenclaws. This proved to be rather troublesome, as the Ravenclaws always like to prove their intelligence and the Slytherins were very competitive and wanted to see how resourceful they could be. It would be a very long hour.

After lunch they used the fifteen minutes to switch out their materials and rush to the Charms classroom, which takes place a lot closer to the tower. They were almost late and breathless, but they made it just in time to hear the professor reviewing the concept of charms and encouraging them to practice the levitation spell.

"Next time," Harry says in-between breaths. "Let's end lunch early."

"Agreed," says Malfoy, seeming to have an even harder time with his breathing.

The last class of the day was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, which included a long introduction on the usefulness of its practice and why it needs to be taken seriously. Apparently this was another one of those potentially dangerous classes and that anyone messing around would immediately get a detention. At first some people thought she was joking when she said they'd start by trying to turn matches into needles, but she wasn't and it was actually rather hard to do. It was another long hour, and within the entire Slytherin class only Millicent Bulstode was able to complete the assignment properly. Others tried: Goyle turned his into a small twig, Malfoy managed to get his match to sparkle, and Harry was able to change the color to a complete grey. None of it compared though to the quiet boy who accidently made his catch on fire. "This can happen sometimes," the professor explains. "Part of Transfiguration is thinking of the object's properties and how they can be changed. Matches are often associated with fire."

"If that's true, then why are we using matches," complains Malfoy.

McGonagall only looks slightly irritated, "As beginning students you have to start with small objects, and I have you use matches because what if you were lost in the woods. If you only had matches for a fire, and if you suddenly needed to mend something, then you would need to know how to turn a match into a needle.

"Aren't there spells for that," counters Draco.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, but here we are assuming you would be without a wand. Although more complex transfigurations require a wand, some of the simpler ones can be done purely by thought and focus if the wizard or witch is adept enough in this branch of magic. It is a lot easier and a lot more reliable to use your wand, but if it comes down to it, it is possible to do so without."

Harry could tell the class was really frustrating Malfoy, so he was glad when their day was finally finished. Harry asks, "How about we finish our homework before dinner, and then afterwards we can just hang out and talk like you wanted us to?"

Draco nods, "Sounds like a plan."

So, later that night they did find time to talk and hang out. The common room seemed like the best place to be, since it at least included a couple chessboards. It was a lot of fun, but after losing a few times Harry wondered if there was something else, "Is chess all they have."

Malfoy shrugs as he looks around, "Looks like it." He smiles in remembrance, "I do have a few activities back in the dorm if you'd like. There's a deck of cards, Checkers, and Gobstones."

Harry questions, "What about Tic Tac Toe or Mad Libs?"

"What," asks Draco in confusion.

"If you don't know them, then they would be muggle games, but I won't tell your father we've played if you don't."

Draco contemplates for a moment, but apparently he really wanted something new to do, "Yeah. Sure. How do we play?"

"Let's go back to the dorm. We will need paper or parchment and a writing utensil."

When they get back Draco asks, "I haven't found a purpose for the rainbow ink yet. Is it possible to use it?" as Harry finds some parchment.

"Yeah. That would actually be pretty cool." He takes out a sheet of parchment and looks around for a table, but then he realizes he will have to improvise. He takes out a textbook to use as a hard surface, while Malfoy places the rainbow colored ink on the nightstand. Harry dips the quill into the ink before setting up the game, "So, you draw two lines down and two lines to the right. This leaves nine boxes."

"What's the purpose of the game," asks Malfoy.

Harry draws an X in the center box, "Player one is X, player two is O. The goal is to get three in a row, and yes diagonally works. The first player to get three in a row wins."

Malfoy takes his turn and after a few more no one wins, "So, it's a tie?"

"It's called a cat's game," answers Harry as he draws a large C over the game. "No one wins." He sees Malfoy's look, "Don't ask why it's called that. I really don't know." Draco nods and they play a few more times, but those end up as cat's games too. "It's possible that this game is meant for those who have shorter attention spans." He pauses, "It used to be fun."

"Would you like to play checkers, then? You do know how to play, don't you?"

"Yes. I know how to play." They place the board on the bed but soon realize it's not a good surface, so they decide to put the board on the floor and to sit in the area between their beds. After a few movements Harry asks, "So, now that we've taken most of our classes, which do you like the most?"

Malfoy shrugs, "Probably Potions, but that may only be because we've been doing well in there. I'd probably like Transfiguration more had I been better at it."

Harry nods, "I can't decide between Potions or Charms, but I'm rather excited for our Wednesday flying lessons."

Malfoy huffs, "I've been flying since primary school. That class will be so easy to pass."

Harry frowns, "I haven't ever flown one."

"That's not a surprise," comments Draco, his face holding a clear disdain. "It sounds like those muggles you live with are real horrible people, even for muggles." He makes his move, "And even had they been good, they wouldn't have been able to teach you properly enough to at least have a head start or advantage against the rest of the class."

"I don't think all muggles are bad; some can be very kind or intelligent, but the ones I live with…"

Malfoy hears him trail off, "You don't need them, and clearly they don't appreciate you. You shouldn't even go back to that horrible place."

Harry shakes his head, "I'm underage. I couldn't possibly—"

"It is possible," Draco reassures. "You just need to be resourceful enough."

He takes a big breath and blows it out slowly, "And how would this work exactly?"

Draco looks thoughtful as he continues, "Looking in the library might be a good place to start. There may be some stories about runaway wizards or a map of places and there purposes."

Harry nods, "And if I can't find anything in the library?"

"If my father approves, you could spend a summer at our place."

Harry shakes his head, "I couldn't ask that of you, even if we were to remain friends for the entire year with little complication.

Draco smiles, probably realizing Harry had just acknowledged them to be friends. "In any case, I think once you turn thirteen you would have learned enough to take care of yourself. If you wanted to not even go back this next summer, then I'd be happy ask some people if there's a place to stay for wizards in such situations."

"I'll think about it."


	7. The Impure

The next morning was Tuesday. This meant the Slytherin morning classes would be History of Magic and Transfiguration, which took place around the same area their Charms class did. Harry thought ahead and told Malfoy they should gather their materials before breakfast, so they wouldn't have to go five flights of stairs to the dungeon and then go up eight flights to get to their first hour class.

"Good thinking."

On their way to breakfast Harry was questioning the logic of having the school be so large and the classes so far from each other, but then he realized how many students there must be and that of course something as dangerous as Potions wouldn't take place right next to another classroom. The more dangerous ones would take place in the dungeon, just because the dungeon has thicker and had sturdier walls.

When they get to breakfast the first thing that happens is the post. _Must be to prevent feathers from falling into the food._ An owl swoops down to land a small letter in front of him. He sees Malfoy frowning at his package as he reads his letter, but Harry focuses on his first and opens it. Inside are some very messy scribbles. _I was wondering if you would like to come down to my hut Friday for a chat and some tea. I was going to ask for Wednesday, but it turns out both Slytherin and Gryffindor have flying lessons that afternoon. Ah, yes. I did invite Ron and Hermione too. Hermione says she will come, but I'm still waiting for a response from Ron. Please send your response with Hedwig._ It was from Hagrid. Harry hears the owl again and notices it's Hedwig. He tries to pet her, but she bites him. "Owe. What's wrong? They not giving you any treats?" The owl's feathers ruffle and Harry finds a quill to respond with, before he folds the paper back up and sends Hedwig away.

Malfoy had already opened his package. It includes several pastries Harry finds to be very similar-looking to pop tarts, but Harry knows that in the wizarding world it will most likely go by another name. Draco turns to Goyle, "You want them?" When Goyle's head shakes a no he looks over at Crabbe, "What about you?" He too shakes his head. "You sure?"

"We've been ordered not to," responds Crabbe.

Draco nearly rolls his eyes, before he looks over at Harry and smiles, "What about you?"

The seating arrangement had been changed so that Crabbe sat next to Harry, while Goyle sat across from him. This made it so that there was more room and so that Draco was more protected, if any unexpected danger were to come, but right now it just allows Harry to see Goyle shake his head a no. "Would I get into trouble?"

Draco smirks, "What my father doesn't know won't kill him."

"No," Goyle looks at Malfoy. "But it may kill you."

Draco sees Harry's serious expression, "He's joking."

Harry looks at the pastries in question. They are unbroken, pieces of red poke through, and a dark brown is smeared over the entire top as a glaze would. "I think I'll just take one." Draco gladly hands it to him, and when Harry takes a bite his mouth explodes with the pure taste of strawberries and chocolate. "Wow. This tastes like real strawberries."

Malfoy chuckles, "Yes. They're real strawberries. What? Did you expect it to be fake strawberries? Maybe the stuff covering it is fake chocolate."

Harry gives a slightly annoyed look, "You can laugh all you want, but muggle food tends to be artificially flavored. Nothing can be preserved long enough for it to be real."

Draco continues to smile but stops laughing, "Welcome to the wizard world, where everything is fresh and everything is real." Harry nods before finishing the treat, although somehow he imagined this 'treat' must be the healthiest thing he's ever ate. "You can have the rest if you want."

Harry sees Goyal shake his head again, so he shakes his head at the offer, "You like strawberries, don't you? You eat them every day. You should have the rest of these." He notices Draco hadn't placed any food on his plate since the meal had appeared, "Or you could just have a couple for breakfast."

"No," comments Draco as he lowers his eyes. He looks back up, "I'm never really hungry in the morning. I guess I'm just not awake enough." He puts the lid back on the container, "I'll just save them for later."

It takes a moment for Harry to break the quiet, "This gift seems very thoughtful of your father. Are you disappointed because of the letter?"

Malfoy responds after a second, "He just wants to make sure I'm doing well." He pauses, "He mentioned some things I'd rather forget." He pours himself a glass of ice water, "Sometimes I feel like these gifts are more of some sort of trick or sabotage. I don't know. It's hard to explain why."

Harry nods and by the time he finishes his breakfast it's time for first hour. The rest of their morning is uneventful, they finish lunch early to gather their materials and get to Charms on time, and everyone manages to do the levitation spell. In Defense against the Dark Arts Professor Quirrell just kept stuttering the different groups of creatures and which creatures fell into which category, but Harry can only think that it would be easier to learn and that they would have learned more by now if Quirrell wasn't always so nervous.

Looking around the room Harry can tell the Professor is paranoid as well, since the entire room is littered with garlic. _Apparently Quirrell had a run in with vampires once, and now he's determined to make all the students sweat garlic juice_. He shakes his head. _No. It would take more than just the smell to sweat garlic, but the smell will certainly be sticking to our clothes._

Harry and Draco manage to get all their homework finished within an hour, so they spend the rest of the time they have before dinner roaming the halls. Draco wants to see if he can find where the other houses are, "You see. It will be easiest to find Gryffindor's, because they're so reckless they not only say where it is but sometimes also reveal the password whenever they're telling their heroic tales." Malfoy had air quotes around "heroic", insinuating that whatever they did was anything but that.

They walk up the enchanted stairs, which randomly switch direction, until they find themselves in non-magical halls below the west tower. They walk towards where Malfoy says the portrait of the fat lady should be, but as they do so they run into Hermione. "Oh. Hey. What are you two doing up here?"

Harry tells the truth, "Draco wants to find where all the houses are located."

Draco hits Harry on the shoulder, "We'll never be allowed to find it now."

Harry rubs his shoulder, "What was I supposed to say."

"I don't know," complains Malfoy. "How about we're just roaming around to explore the castle, which we are."

Hermione smiles, "Curiosity killed the cat."

"Wait. What cat," asks Malfoy, only a little panicked. "Surely not Filch's cat."

Hermione gives Draco a 'seriously' look, while Harry comments, "It's just an expression. It means that being curious can get you into a lot of trouble."

Draco huffs off his previous reaction, "Huh. And I suppose it's those muggles who came up with it?" Hermione nods, so Malfoy shakes his head and jeers, "Sounds about right. Those people can't make anything make any sense."

Hermione gives a half surprise, half irritated look, "My parents are muggles."

"I know they are. You—you—"  
"If you call her a mudblood," inserts Harry. "Then it will be you who gets hit next."

Malfoy just shakes his head but keeps his mouth shut; however, Hermione asks, "What's a mudblood?"

Harry takes a moment to respond, "It means someone who's muggle-born. I hear the word tossed around a lot in the Slytherin house, so it's hard to tell if they're only saying it because it's what they're used to or if they're purposely using it, but it seems to be a rather mean word when it's used.

Hermione looks at Draco with hurt, "And you were going to call me that?"

"Does it matter," questions Draco. "It just means dirty or tainted blood, which yours is. No pureblood could ever marry you, had they even wanted to."

A tear falls from Hermione's eyes, "You're mean and just plain cruel. You know that?" Draco doesn't do anything and keeps an even expression upon his face, so she continues to Harry, "And you. You support this?"

Harry firmly shakes his head, "No. I don't support any of it."

She just shakes her head as she tries to calm her breathing, "Whatever." She wipes the tears from her face, "I have somewhere I need to be anyway."

Harry turns around to watch her march down the hall and calls out, "Good luck with the study group." She freezes in her tracks but then hurries on, only a little less angry than before.

* * *

"You're still not going to apologize," recounts Harry angrily.

"For what," Draco nearly yells. "For stating the truth? I didn't even really call her one. You stopped me before I could, and even if I had done it there would be nothing to apologize for." Harry's about to speak, but Malfoy continues in fury, "The blood of a muggle-born is the most impure blood there is. If my father knew I even had a semi-decent conversation with one—" He shakes his head and places a hand over his mouth, before he takes a large breath, "Blood purity is only important to those of the pureblood status. Calling her a mudblood isn't insulting her intelligence or hygiene. It's just used to encourage purebloods not to connect with them."

Harry shakes his head, "To Hermione this mudblood thing goes deeper. She will consider it an insult to her intelligence and conclude it to the assumption that she would have a lower magical ability." Draco doesn't speak. "You need to admit what you did was wrong and go apologize to her. Now."

Draco shakes his head, "I don't have to take any of this from you." and stands from the table.

He starts to walk off, but Harry demands, "Where are you going?"

Draco turns around only for a moment, giving a smug look, "It's Wednesday. We have Transfiguration all afternoon. I need to do better than last time."

Harry's mouth slightly gapes open, not really believing what he's seeing, "What about lunch?"

Malfoy glares at the food-filled table, "I don't need any of that rubbish." before he turns and storms out of the hall.

Harry takes a breath and looks around, wondering if any of that had made a scene. He sees only a few people from each table bothering to pay attention, but one of those people are Hermione. They share a look and although it seems he himself has been forgiven, he can't be sure if he is completely, and he knows Malfoy still hasn't earned it yet. _If he even wants it._

* * *

\- After reading chapter 9 of The Sorcerer's Stone, I realized that the way it's described it seems that the Charms classroom would actually be on the third floor. Because of this, I changed the beginning from "back up ten flights, to back up eight flights." Sorry for the mistake.


	8. To Fly, To Compete, To Danger

Harry and Draco find their way to their flying class separately. It's on a large, flat, grassy piece of land that outstretches before the forbidden forest. The teacher, Madam Hooch, stares at the class with her hawk-like eyes, and her short, grey hair remains untouched by the harsh wind of this day. "Well. What are you waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick." Some people hurry in excitement, others either nervous or wishing to be somewhere else and take their time. "Come on. Hurry up," she yells.

After instructing the class to hold a hand over the broom and say up, the entire class starts to yell the word. For Harry it takes one try, and for Malfoy it only takes a couple. _Perhaps he's been skipping this part._ The rest of the class was having a hard time getting their booms up. Hermione and Nevil were especially having a hard time.

It takes a while for everyone to command their brooms up, but when they finally do the teacher asks the students to mount the broom from the side, so no one would have a chance of falling off. Malfoy comments, "Wait. I thought you were supposed to mount from the back, because it would be easier to get on it."

The teacher shakes her head, "No. That's not how you do it Mr. Malfoy." She addresses all the students, "This is why we have a class. Forget anything you thought you knew, anything you may have read or heard from Quidditch experts. Here we're learning the safest way to navigate your broomstick, not the quickest way to get on or how to do the sharpest turns."

They were soon instructed to kick off from the ground at the count of three, but Nevil, filled with fear, left the ground early. His broomstick did nothing but rise higher, and the higher he got the more scared Nevil seemed to appear. At some point he fell off the side of his broomstick, while he had longingly looked for the ground, and he had fallen hard with a loud, painful crack.

Madam Hooch goes over to examine him. "Broken wrist," she mutters with the click of her tongue. "Come on, boy. It's alright." When they start to leave the teacher churns her neck back to yell, "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing. You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.'"

After a few moments Malfoy is heard chuckling, and when Harry turns to look he's picking something off from the ground. "Well, look at this? Hey." He looks around at several other Slytherins, "Maybe if he squeezed this hard enough, then he would have remembered how to land on that fat ass of his." Just a few of the Slytherins laugh.

Hermione marches over, out-stretching her arm and demanding, "Give it to me."

Malfoy laughs with that same smug look he had worn during his escape from lunch, "And what is a little mudblood girl like yourself going to do about it?"

As Hermione tries to reach it, Malfoy just lifts his arm up to keep it from reach. Harry takes a few forceful steps forward and commands, "Give it to her."

Malfoy smirks and takes a few steps back, "No. I think I will put it somewhere nice and safe for Longbottom." His smirk widens, "How about I stick it to the top of Gryffindor Tower?"

Harry takes a pleading step forward, "Just give it here and all is forgiven."

"Surely not everything," Draco chuckles as he mounts his broom. Malfoy raises an eyebrow, and Harry knows what it meant. This was a challenge. "Come get it, Potter."

Harry angrily climbs onto his broom, and although he hears Hermione warn, "No. Harry. Don't." he takes off and follows Malfoy anyway.

Although Draco had the mounting and commanding of the broom to work on, clearly those things had nothing to do with how well you fly one. He was soon zipping all around the grounds, and it doesn't take long for Harry to realize that he was purposely being slower, or pausing if he wasn't, just to let him catch up.

They land on top of the Gryffindor's tower, and Harry spends a good minute trying to prevent the wind from tripping him over, "Give it back, Malfoy."

"No," Draco smiles as he takes some gum from his mouth and places it on the glass orb.

Harry shakes his head, "If you stick it to the tower I will just take it right off again."

A giant grin appears on Draco's face, "It's a good thing I'm not putting it on the tower, then."

"What," asks Harry, just a little more than confused.

"Fetch."

Harry doesn't have any time to respond. Draco had just thrown the orb, and now it hurtles toward the ground. He tries to lean in closer to the broom to go faster, but they're really close to the ground now. Had he had any time to think, he would have considered how dangerous it was and how he was sure to end up with a broken wrist as well if he continued; however, he has no time to think and instead catches it when they're only an inch from the ground. The audience marveles at the sharp turn he had done, but all he notices is the gross, slimy gum on his hand. "Ew. Draco spit." He wipes his hand onto the grass, before he takes a step towards Hermione. "Here you go."

When Hermione receives the remembrall she smiles, "Thank you."

Harry looks over at Ron, whom stands next to her. "Yeah, man. That was really something." He pauses, "It was, I guess, nice of you."

Harry nods but doesn't speak. This was the best he was going to get from Ron right now, and he was okay with that. He, however, was going to apologize for Malfoy's behavior to Hermione once again, but by the time his mouth opens Madam Hooch had already come back. She points directly at Malfoy and then Harry, "You two. Follow me."

It was a long way down to the dungeon's Potion's room, and even though they were confused at first, by the time they got there it was clear. Snape was in charge of their house, and therefor he would be giving out the punishment. He was sitting in his chair and when Harry and Draco are presented to him he comments, "Well, well. What do we have here?" Harry was about to explain, but it must have been a rhetorical question, because he apparently had already known. "Draco, challenging someone from your house is never a good thing." He looks over to Harry, "And you, never having flown a broom before, you could have died."

Harry gulps, "I know, Sir."

"But you didn't." He looks at them expectantly, but no one speaks. Harry looks back around, but the flying teacher had already left. "I want you both to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team."

Draco takes deep breaths of relief, "Our punishment is that we're on the team."

Snape points a finger, and Harry can't help but notice the longer fingernail it holds. "Eh-uh. No. Like I said, you have to try out." Snape sees Malfoy's grin and continues, "But that's not your punishment. No."

"Then what is it," asks Harry hesitantly.

Snape does that snake smile again, and Harry begins to think that no matter how many times he sees it, it will never stop creeping him out. "You both have earned a month of detention."

Draco's smile falls and his eyes grow wide, as he exclaims, "What?"

"You have earned a month of detention, equaling five hours per week for four weeks," he continues. "Whether it be five hours in one day or broken up is up to you, but you will spend it helping me around the classroom."

"Wait," comments Draco in confusion. "I thought Filch chose the punishments. That's why everyone behaves better around him."

"No." Snape half-smiles, "He just likes to give out detentions." No one says anything so he asks, "How would you like your punishment taken: more short ones or fewer long ones?"

Harry and Draco take one glance at each other, having the same thing in mind. Harry answers, "Fridays work best, but can we please start next week. I've already made plans."

"Consider your plans cancelled," retorts Snape. "Dinner is at eight and no one is allowed outside the dorms past nine, so it looks like I will have you from the hours three to eight. Hopefully I can teach you better house loyalty and how to not carelessly put yourself into dangerous situations." They nod with frowns. "Tryouts are held Saturday directly after breakfast. Don't be late." A moment passes before Snape says, "Ah. Yes. You may leave."

When they exist Harry asks, "What was up with him back there?"

Malfoy shakes his head, "I have no idea, but he needs his attention span checked."


	9. Curfew

"What are you doing?" Draco looks up from his book and parchment, looking around at his surroundings and continuing to write on the paper, but Hermione is ignored. "I said," she emphasizes, "What are you doing here?" Draco doesn't look up, more focused on the motions of his quill. Hermione complains, "You're too close to our common room."

Draco looks up with a smirk, "Then I guess you lot should have been more careful not to say where it is." He looks back down at his work, "I still haven't found where the Hufflepuff's common room is. They must work hard not to reveal it."

"Is that what you're doing," spouts Hermione. "You're still trying to find out where the houses are." He doesn't respond.

"What do you plan to do after you gather all this information? Break into our dorms or something?"

Draco looks up to see the red-headed Ron Weasley, "Oh. Hello." He finishes the map and says, "Well, I'm done here. I've better go."

Malfoy starts to walk off, but Hermione hurries after him and grasps his arm to spin him around, "Hold on there. You still owe me an apology."

"For what, exactly?"

That smug look and large ego, Hermione could have slapped him right there and then. _But it's not worth it. I don't need to get in trouble, just because he has such self-worth displayed._ "You owe me for what you said. Harry keeps apologizing for you, but it means nothing if you're not the one saying it."

"There's nothing to apologize for," comments Malfoy evenly. "You are what you are."

"And she's better than you'll ever be," shouts Ron. "Whether she's pureblood or not."

"Oh. Do you think so?"

"I know so," answers Ron.

"Then prove it." He sees Ron is as angry and stubborn as ever, while Hermione slowly becomes more and more unsure of herself. "The trophy room is always unlocked. What do you think, a midnight duel to prove who is more or less deserving of their title?"

"Deal," says Ron without hesitation.

"Hold on. Wait," says Hermione. "That's past curfew."

"Oh. So, you do have a problem with it." He pauses, "Well, that's fine." and looks over the condition of his nails. "I guess that just means you have nothing to prove."

Ron sees Hermione fill with rage, but it's bottled up. She's not about to release it. "Hermione," he whispers. "If you win, then he may not see a reason to call you that anymore, because you wouldn't be deserving of the title."

Hermione squints her eyes at Malfoy, "If I agree to this, then when I win you can never call me that horrible word again."

Malfoy smirks, "If you win, whatever I decide to call you will mean nothing in the eyes of others. Not if they're associating the word with your magical ability."

Hermione seems unsure of what to decide, so Ron comments, "It would be nice to take him out of the picture. If you defeat him, then your achievement will mean more than he could ever say."

Hermione takes a strong, deep breath, "So, midnight then."

Draco smiles, confident, "Midnight in the trophy room. Don't be late." He turns around and walks away, but as he has to wait for the stairs to switch, he scribbles on his parchment. _Warn Peeves._

* * *

Later on that night Malfoy suggests, "How about a game of checkers?"

Harry doesn't look at him, as he studies his Potion's book, "I'm still mad at you."

"Well, that's why you should say yes. A little competition is just what we need."

Harry gives him a dumbfounded look, "The last time you wanted us to have a competition we ended up with a month of detention."

"I admit," Draco says. "That was a bit short-sighted of me."

"Why did you do it, anyway?" The anger seeps through, but Draco can tell he's also confused about it. "What did you think you would get out of it?"

It takes a moment for Draco to respond, "I don't know. I guess I was just sick of talking about nothing but blood purity and how words can be interpreted worse than they are." He looks at Harry, "All we were doing was fighting. I just wanted to do something else." He shifts his head and smiles, "And if I can prove to you and the class that I'm not as bad a flyer as the teacher made me out to be, then that's just a plus."

Harry shakes his head, remembering the first night when Malfoy had conspired with Crabbe and Goyle 'not to steal his thunder'. He actually hadn't paid any attention to what they were actually doing, "What's your big, evil plan anyway? You plan to become the best at everything, so every student will feel the need to bow down at your every command?"

"Hardly," responds Draco. "This year my father just wants me to focus on doing well in everything, and also to somehow be acknowledged the best student of my year."

"Still," comments Harry. "That's rather impossible."

"I don't know about that." Harry sees Draco lying on his back, looking to the ceiling with thought. "Getting on the Quidditch team should be a good start to gaining a good reputation."

Harry gives a doubtful expression, "We still have to try out."

"Perhaps, but Snape did choose us. That means we must be good."

"Or it could just mean he'd rather have us competing against other houses than against each other," he counters.

"True, but with my experience I'm sure I will get on the team."

"Your experience with what," Harry mumbles. "Doing mean things to people."

Draco sits up and turns toward Harry, "Okay. I get it. You're still mad."

"Yeah, and I have a right to be," he remarks as he straightens his back. "You insult my choices, compliment me on my class work, and complain how Hermione is sometimes better in class than you, and then you call her dirty and impure. That's not right."

Draco comments in curiosity, "Are you mad because I've insulted your judgement, or are you mad that I called Hermione a mudblood?"

"Both," Harry nearly yells. He sees Crabbe and Goyle watching them, as if they were only mindless entertainment, but he ignores them. "Hermione is my friend. I wish you would treat her better, maybe even get along."

"Now. Why would I do that when she's been trying to take everything away from me?"

Harry huffs, almost in disbelieving laughter, "What has she taken from you? From where I stand you've taken far more from her."

"You know," he pauses, trying to think of any words to purpose the feeling he has of her trying to take something from him. "She's been trying to outsmart me in class. She's been very annoying and inconvenient in general, and her mere presence has others lack appreciation of my family's name and status."

"I thought you were sick of talking about blood status," comments Harry tiredly.

"I am," Draco responds after a moment. "But it's important." It's quiet for a little while, so he lies back down and continues, "Anyway, that Granger girl won't be a problem anymore. Neither will that horrid Weasley."

Harry looks at Malfoy sternly, "What did you do?"

"Don't worry. They won't get expelled, although that would have been better." He turns his thoughts around, "No. They will probably just get a detention, but at least it will get them out of my space for a while."

"What did you do," Harry repeats himself, more angry than before.

Draco shrugs it off, "I just told Hermione that if she wanted to prove she's just as good as any pureblood, then she should meet me at midnight in the trophy room for a duel. Little do they know I warned Peeves, that pathetic ghost, that they would be wandering about tonight."

Harry looks at the clock, "That's in less than ten minutes." and hurries from his bed.

"And where to you think you're running off to," remarks Malfoy.

"I have to help them."

Draco watches as Harry slips on his shoes and throws his uniform over his pajamas, "You can't just leave. It's past curfew. You'll get yourself into trouble."

"You should have thought of that before you sent my friends out for the same fate."


	10. Run

"Harry," Hermione bellows in surprise.

Harry places a finger over his lips to remind her to be quiet, but then he sees the clumsy boy from the hat sorting standing next to Ron, "What's Nevil doing here?"

"He got locked out of the house," Hermione answers in concern.

"A better question," furies Ron. "What are you doing here? You Malfoy's second or something?"

Harry gives an annoyed look, "Whatever that means, no." He looks at Hermione, "Draco set you up. He warned Peeves that you would be out tonight. We've got to get you all back to your house."

"We," questions Hermione.

"Well, yeah," comments Harry. "I'm not going to sleep very well, unless I know my warning to you helped any."

Ron shakes his head, his arms crossed, "That Malfoy. What makes him think he can do this to us?"

It was clearly a rhetorical question, as he was trying to vent, but Harry answers it anyway, "Not you." He looks at Hermione again, "He thinks you're stealing things from him."

"What? I've never stolen anything," exclaims Hermione.

"It's not a physical object. He said you were a challenge to his position as top of class, that when you're around people don't acknowledge or respect his status." Harry licks his lips, a little bit of guilt making his mouth dry, "I think those were just excuses, although I'm sure they're important to him too. I just think he thinks that if I'm friends with you, then I wouldn't have any time for him. Like last weekend."

Hermione gives a semi-confused, semi-shocked look, "Harry. I never get any time with you. Malfoy has you all week. He must know that."

Harry shrugs a shoulder, "It is different in class, and sometimes even afterwards when we do homework in the dorm it's less hanging out and more work-focused. At least when I studied with you we were able to slip in other conversations."

Harry looks towards the door, suddenly aware of Filch talking to his cat as steps grow nearer, "We have to go." He motions, "This way." They make it out of the room; however, after a few more steps Nevil trips, and when Ron tries to help him up they both stumble into a suit of armor. Harry hears the loud metal, mimicking the sound of pans falling from a cabinet, and when he turns around to see what had happened he yells, "Run."

Harry doesn't know where he's going. All he knows is that he's running away from another detention and that three others are following him. It's dark as they run down the hidden hall, and they exit into the Charms classroom. "Do you think we've lost them," asks Ron.

"I hope so," Harry replies between heavy breaths, although he's not sure if the question was meant for him. He turns around and sees Nevil in even worse condition, sweat slipping off of his brow, nose, and mouth. _Unless it's spit._ "You okay, Nevil?" He only nods.

Ron comments, "We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower."

"And how do we get you there," Harry questions.

"What? Malfoy didn't map it out for you."

Harry sees Ron is angry, but he's too tired to argue, "Is he still doing that?" Hermione nods, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. "I think, maybe, he didn't very much like my big mouth the first time we went exploring. How I told Hermione exactly what we were doing."

There's silence for a moment, but it's interrupted when Peeves enters the classroom, "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, Naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away," Harry pleads. "Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," continues the childish ghost. As he floats out of the room he remarks, "It's for your own good, you know."

When they hear Peeves screaming that they're in the Charms room they run down the hall, but they're met with a locked door. "This is it. We're done for," Ron fearfully comments as Filch's running is heard.

"Oh, move over," Hermione pushes Ron out of the way. She taps the lock, "Alohomora." and it's suddenly undone. They quickly move into the room, staying as quiet as they can, as they can hear Filch trying to pry information out of Peeves.

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please."

After a few more moments Hermione hears them leave, "It's alright. He will think this door is locked."

Nevil tugs on Ron's sleeve, before Ron responds, "With good reason."

Hermione hears the whimpering and turns around, "What is it?"

Harry looks too and when all three heads notice them, they scream. Hermione lets them all out, and makes sure to hurry and lock up the door again as the others push against the door so that the humungous dog can't get out. They take multiple steps back from the door, a few wondering if the door could actually hold that beast. Harry comments, "This must be the forbidden corridor on the third floor."

Ron responds with angry disbelief, "You think?"

"I guess Malfoy was right," Harry mutters as he looks back at the door. "Something really did get in, and they really did lock it up until they could get it out without harming the students."

"No. It's more than that," Hermione responds, appearing way more focused than scared.

"What," Nevil mumbles.

Hermione shakes her head, "None of you use your eyes, do you?" She looks at each individually, "There was a hatch in the floor. It was clearly guarding something."

"Whatever," Ron shakes his head. "Let's just get out of here before we get found again."

Hermione nods before looking at Harry sweetly, "Thank you so much for warning us, but it might be better we split up now. Stay out of trouble, okay?"

Harry smiles, "Well, I think it's a little too late for that, but thank you. And you, all of you, stay out of trouble won't you?" He receives a few nods, and when they exit the corridor they split off.

When Harry makes it to the dungeon he hurries to get back to his house, but before he can he runs into Snape, "Well, well, Potter. What are you doing out and about, wandering these forsaken halls, at three in the morning?"

"It's three A.M.," Harry mutters in confusion. Snape doesn't respond, but a smile grows upon his face. "I got lost, couldn't find the secret passage to the house."

Snape clucks his tongue, "Then let's find it, shall we?" As they walk Harry tries to remain quiet, but his thoughts keep drifting to what that beast could be guarding and Snape continues to speak as they walk. "You would be surprised how many first years forget where the house is. It is hidden behind stone that looks like the rest of the dungeon walls, and if they do find it, it still requires a password." They stop in front of a stretch of wall, "So, you did very well in choosing that as your excuse."

"Sorry, Professor," he questions.

Snape looks down at him with his cold, black eyes, but there was also knowledge hidden beneath their surface. "What part of I know everything, Potter, do you not understand?" He doesn't let the boy reply, "Ten points from Slytherin." He faces the wall and mutters, "Greengrass." before the passage reveals itself. He turns back to Harry, "Save you lies and excuses for the prefects. Nothing gets past me."

Harry nods before he walks down the long passage, goes through the common room, and goes down the long hall, until he finally makes it to his dorm and bed. When he gets there Malfoy's eyes flutter open, "Hey. What happened? Did you get into trouble?"

Harry removes his cloak and shoes, revealing his pajamas, "We were almost caught a few times, but no one got a detention."

"Well, that's nice then," Malfoy tiredly comments.

He had to have been tired to not be bothered about his plan falling to pieces. "Snape found me on my way back. I told him I got lost, so he took ten points from Slytherin. I don't know if he took them because I lied or because I was out late."

Draco mutters, "He's really nice. Letting us choose when to have detention. Only taking ten points off for your misguided adventure."

Harry shakes his head, "Snape isn't nice; he's cruel. And you, you really not in your right mind right now, are you?"

"My mind is better than you any day of the week," he murmurs.

Harry almost laughs, "It's three A.M. and we have a full day of classes followed by midnight Astronomy tomorrow. Or, I guess, it would be today." He lies down and tries to calm down, before he shuts his eyes, "We need to sleep."


	11. Problems

After four or five hours of sleep Harry was woken by Draco, "You still want breakfast, or would you rather sleep in?"

Harry grabs his blankets tighter but mumbles, "Breakfast. Definitely."

"You'd better wake up, then."

At breakfast Harry watches as Malfoy opens another package from his father. This one includes what looks to be a diary. "Why's he giving you that?" Harry found himself saying it too late, and with the sudden look he gets from Draco he really wishes that he had only thought it as he had initially intended.

It takes a second for Draco to speak, as he feels the need to read through the letter again, "My father thinks I might have a hard time, what with this being my first year away from the manor and all." He runs his hand over the simple, black leather, grateful his father decided not to get something which would have been carved or engraved. "He wants me to express myself regularly, claiming that whatever I decide to write or draw won't be seen by him."

"Isn't that a good thing," questions Harry.

Malfoy shrugs, "So long as he doesn't have my mother look at it for him."

"You could always come up with a code," Harry suggests.

Malfoy shakes his head, "I think I'll just stick with English." He looks at Harry expectantly, "Promise not to read or look?"

Harry laughs a smile, "Like I'd want to know all the messed up things you're thinking or may have gone through."

Draco smiles back, "Thanks." He looks between Crabbe and Goyle, "That goes for you too." They just nod, as they continue to eat from their plates.

* * *

The rest of the day drags on, and Harry almost thinks he shouldn't have gone to save them. Almost. _I couldn't just leave them there to get into trouble, not when I knew what would happen, not when it was going to happen to a friend._

After Harry finishes his last class of the day, excluding Astronomy, he quickly walks outside and heads down to Hagrid's hut. He knocks, holding his Herbology and Charms materials in his other hand. Hagrid opens the door with surprise, "Oh. Harry. Is it Friday already?"

"No." He wets his lips, "I got detention tomorrow." and looks to the ground for a moment. "Actually, I got detention every Friday for the rest of the month, courteous of Malfoy and his need for acknowledgement and attention."

"Oh," comments Hagrid in slight disappointment. "Why don't you come in and sit down?" Harry does so, finding a seat at the small, circular table. "So, tell me, how does someone get a month of detention?"

Harry shrugs, "He took Nevil's remembral and challenged me to get it back from him. It was during flying class, while the teacher was out. Snape wasn't very pleased with Malfoy challenging a house member or with me for flying unsupervised without any experience."

Hagrid nods, "Well, live and learn. That's all any of us can do."

Harry nods, before he notices the newspaper reading _Gringotts_. He takes it and begins to read, as Hagrid pours each of them a cup of tea. "Somebody tried to steal the package you picked up for Dumbledore."

Hagrid sees Harry's surprise, "Ah, yes, but, um, you really don't need to be reading that." He takes it from him, "You're just a kid after all, and these are adult matters."

Harry recalls how Hermione saw the beast standing over a trapdoor, "The package. Is that what that three-headed dog is guarding?"

Hagrid gives a half-serious, half-curious look, "How do you know about Fluffy?"

Harry shrugs, "Malfoy was trying to get Hermione out of his way or something, by giving her a detention, I guess, so I went to save her and the couple people she happened to be with." He shakes his head, becoming more confused the more he tries to sort everything out, "To get away from Peeves and Filch we had to go into that locked room." He sees Hagrid's concern, "Don't worry. The door is locked again." Hagrid doesn't speak, so Harry repeats his question, "So, does that package— is that what Fluffy's guarding?"

Hagrid pours himself another cup, "Like I said, it's adult matters. No need to bother yourself with it." Harry becomes quiet, but he can't help but be curious as to what would be so important to be guarded by such a beast. "I have been meaning to apologize to you, Harry." He refills Harry's cup, "I made it seem like all Slytherins are evil, but that's just because some families have generations of Slytherins who hold these ideals." Hagrid said the word 'ideals' as if it were some disgusting pest. "But you're a nice kid, Harry, and if the hat says Slytherin will do you the most good, then I hope it will."

"Thank you," is all Harry could say. He doesn't really know what to think, or even if what Hagrid said could even be considered an apology. "Draco has mentioned how blood purity is important to his family, saying that mudblood is just a term used to encourage purebloods not to have connections with the muggleborn, but I just see how it hurts Hermione. And I just wish he would stop it and that they could get along."

Hagrid squints an eye, "Don't tell me this Malfoy is a friend of yours."

Harry kind of shrugs his shoulders, having a hard time putting it into words, "It's— it's complicated."

"Things are never complicated," Hagrid states. "People just make it so."

"What would you have me do," asks Harry.

"Well, if I were put in your position I wouldn't even have bothered speaking to him." Hagrid takes a sip of the tea, "But you're your own person, Harry, and you've got to make your own choices. I may not agree with all of them, but you're not going to get anywhere by doing only what you think others want of you."

It takes a moment for Harry to respond, "Draco thinks he will get somewhere if he does as his father says, but I can tell he'd rather make his own choices."

"One thing I will say about the pureblood families," comments Hagrid. "They are a close, tight-knit group. They rely on each other." He finishes his cup again, "I suppose someone as young as this Draco would feel pressured to be as the rest of his family is." Hagrid pours himself another cup, but after doing so he notices it has emptied. "It seems you've been here for a little while. You should go, do homework or whatever it is you kids do nowadays." Harry nods before he leaves, but otherwise doesn't say a word.


	12. Astronomy

Later that night the common room fills with people. It was Astronomy night, and as Snape was their house teacher he would escort them to the Astronomy Tower. It is rumored that the teachers were trying to come up with a way for students to do this class from their dorms, but this became problematic, what with the Slytherin house being fully immersed in a lake and all.

The first night they had Astronomy some of the dorms had to be knocked on, as some students either didn't know where they were supposed to be or they just thought they'd decide to skip it entirely. However, there was no such luck. This left a few of the boys embarrassed, as after Snape knocked and no one answered he just came in to make sure they were coming out to be showed to class. _I think everyone learned their lesson._

"You would think there would be more students," comments Harry as he observes that even though the room is just a little full, it still doesn't have as many people as their table did.

As they begin to leave Draco comments, "The class is optional for sixth and seventh years."

"Must be nice," complains Harry. "To actually get some sleep around here."

Draco tries to keep himself warm by crossing his arms and rubbing one with his other hand, "It's not like we're not given time to sleep. It's just that if we don't sleep during the short window they give us, then we will certainly be tired the next day."

Harry shakes his head, "I don't even think it matters if we sleep during that time. I just wish I could go to sleep earlier. I'm rather used to going to sleep before ten, and then waking up in the earlier part of the morning."

"Yeah, well, you won't be able to do that here, it seems."

It's quiet for a little while, as they venture up the tallest tower. The mass grows slower, as each step is more tiring than the last, but a steady pace is maintained as they follow the unaffected Professor. Harry looks over and sees Draco breathing heavily, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," he spats. "I just hate stairs, especially long, winding ones. I much rather like the concrete ramps we have in our house."

Harry responds, "Just try to relax. I'm sure we're almost there." and they were almost there. It was only a few minutes later that they were met with the huge, flat surface that was the Astronomy room. The students were supposed to have their own telescopes, but there were a couple for those who didn't. Harry looks at the teacher sitting at the circular desk in the center of the room. She had brown skin, dark brown eyes, and dark brown hair poked out of her traditional witch's hat. _Her outfit seems to be more earth tones, but it's hard to see with all those papers stacked around her._

"Ahg," Malfoy complains. "What are they doing here?"

Harry had seen Professor McGonagall speaking with Professor Sinistra, but he only now notices that a few feet away from them are Ron, Hermione, and Nevil. Harry walks up to them, Malfoy only reluctantly following. "Hey. What brings you here?"

Hermione tries to laugh it off, "I was so angry with Draco yesterday I had completely forgotten about Astronomy. We told McGonagall we had just fallen asleep, but she's having us make up for it."

"Wait a minute," Harry almost laughs. "You mean to say that all that time, there was a class marching through the halls just waiting to find us?"

"It'd be more complicated than that, Harry," she says. "The Astronomy Tower is above the entrance to the school, the entry to it being just above the grand hall up just a floor or two. It's really not a surprise we didn't see anyone or that they didn't see us."

Harry nods in acknowledgement, but Ron interrupts the moment, "So, what's going on here? You still friends with this twat?"

Harry looks to where he's gesturing and sees Malfoy. He opens his mouth to explain the complicated situation, but Malfoy speaks before Harry can say a word, "You know what, yeah. We are friends. Do you have a problem with that?"

"You know, actually I do."

Harry sees Ron pull up his sleeve, as if he's getting ready to pull a punch, and Draco just stands fearlessly still. He grabs Draco's arm, before he hurriedly says to Hermione, "I'll catch up with you later." before he drags Malfoy away and begins to set up the telescope.

Draco speaks with irritation, "Hey. What was that for?"

"What was what for?"

"I was standing my ground and you just pulled me away."

Harry wonders why Malfoy didn't just resist the pull, if he really had wanted to stand his ground, but looking at him Harry realizes it doesn't look like he has a lot of muscle on him, "Look. I'm sorry. I just don't like confrontations, and we do have work to do."

Draco takes a deep, long breath, "Okay. Alright. What are we doing?"

Harry finishes putting the telescope together, "We have to map which region of the sky the constellations are currently in."

"Sounds easy enough." Draco sets out his ink, quill, and the worksheet.

"Remember," these assignments are due by the end of class.

"I remember," Draco comments, only in slight irritation. "At the end of class we turn this in, only to grab another assignment and do what we can during the week which a textbook and not a telescope can provide. Then we are expected to finish the rest in the span of an hour, after just having had climbed the largest staircase known to man."

"No need to be so dramatic, Draco."

"I'm not being dramatic. I think it's a very reasonable assessment," he assures. "We grab an assignment, are expected to know which questions will need the book or the telescope, and do the ones that need the book before class so that you have enough time to do the telescope ones."

Harry slightly nods in understanding. He's not quite fond of having timed assessments either. At least in other classes they were usually given another day to work if the majority of the students couldn't complete the task. "You're right. We aren't given a lot of time, which is why we should be more focused on working. We can complain afterwards."

"Right," Draco mumbles as he looks over the worksheet. "So, where is Capricorn this time of year?"


	13. Detention

The next day after their classes Draco and Harry rush to return their materials to the dorm, before they head off to detention. Surprisingly, they make it there before Snape even arrives. Draco opts to sit on top of a desk, while Harry looks around the room. Harry stops for a moment, his stomach clenching with hunger. It wasn't growling, but he still wished he could have a snack. "I can't believe we're expected to wait eight hours to have dinner."

Malfoy reasons, "Well, if it were any sooner, then students would be complaining about a lack of food during Astronomy. I mean, it does take place at midnight. They had to do something."

Harry takes a deep breath and turns around, "But still, it's a long time to wait. Don't you ever get hungry?"

Draco shrugs a shoulder, "Not really."

Harry shakes his head, "Those treats your father gives you are really wasted on you."

"Well. I did ask you if you wanted them," he reminds him.

Harry licks the inside of his lips, a slight irritation filling him, "They were yours. I didn't want to get in any trouble." His stomach begins to growl, "I wish I had something now, though."

Malfoy shakes his head, "If you stop thinking about it, then the problem will go away."

Harry laughs, "Draco. My stomach is clenching and growling. It's not that simple."

"Of course it is," he responds before he stands from the table. "Part of the reason why you're hungry is because you think you are. But really, you don't need to eat right now." He looks to the ceiling for a moment, "After all, there are more important things aren't there? We have classes, preparation, tryouts tomorrow." He gestures around the room, "Detention. We can't just indulge ourselves whenever we just feel like it, especially not when there's things to do."

Harry gives a stern look, "Maybe your mind is so focused on other things that food is just a second thought to you, but I know when I'm hungry and I know I am now."

Draco looks away for a moment, a little annoyed, "You just ate three hours ago and three hours before that. You're not hungry. You just want to indulge yourself, because those stupid muggles you were living with didn't bother to give you anything good to eat. So, now that you've tasted how food really is, you and your body just want more."

"Whatever," Harry comments with irritation, before he turns away from his friend and sees the teacher's desk. Papers litter it, and several colored inks are lined up. By a mug of quills stood another mug, this one filled with red suckers. _Gotch you._

Snape marches in and nearly yells, "What do you think you're doing?"

Draco smiles, "Well, it appears Potter here is trying to take one of your lollipops."

Harry gives Malfoy a disbelieving look, before Snape comes over to snatch the red lollipop back from him. His finger nail runs over the plastic wrapper, as if testing to see it hadn't been opened, before he takes a seat at his desk. Harry looks at the couple dozen suckers sticking out of the mug, "Come on. Can't I just have one?"

Snape points a finger at him and moves it back-and-forth, "Eh-eh. These are mine." He actually smiles as he opens one and begins to suck on it in delight, "Well, what are you waiting for? You both have got dusting and de-spidering to do."

Malfoy opens his mouth in shock, "Wait. There's spiders in here?"

"Of course, there are Draco. It's a dungeon. Spiders love it here."

"Can't you just use a spell to get rid of the spiders," suggests Harry.

"There is a spell, Potter," the professor answers. "But a spell like that would also get rid of any tarantula legs or spider venom that we would need for potions."

Harry takes a fast, deep breath, "I suppose we'll get to work then."

Snape points to a few items he had left by the door, "There's a spray you can use on the spiders and their webs, which will make them both disintegrate into dust. For the dusting there are some sweepers, along with a small vacuum if you need it."

When Harry finds the bucket of supplies he sees that the vacuum mentioned before is actually only a few inches long, "How is this supposed to work?" Malfoy just shrugs.

"Have neither of you ever cleaned before?"

Malfoy comments, "We have a house elf for that, but I'm sure Harry's cleaned before."

Harry holds up the vacuum, "I'm just confused how this device is supposed to work."

"It's simple," says Snape. "There's an on switch, and any dust, mold, or ashes found near its sensor will instantly apparate to the nearest hill or mountainside."

Harry nods his thanks, before he picks up the spray can and quietly reads the label to Draco, "Check the setting before use. Setting one is used for small household spiders, which you spray a few inches away from your target. Setting two is used for deceased pet spiders, which are usually a little bigger, or for larger arachnid pests, and you should not be more than one foot away from your target when using this setting. Setting three is reserved for large forest dwelling spiders, and you should be more than a couple feet away from your target when using this setting.

"Caution: (1) Setting three needs only be used a few times before the can is rendered useless. (2) Forest dwelling spiders are very paternal/maternal creatures, and as result any offspring of theirs you spray will cause them to see you a threat and seek revenge. (3) Some forms of spiders a sentient, which means they can understand what you're doing and perhaps even understand or speak your language."

Harry gives Malfoy a shocked look, "The wizard world has sentient spiders."

Draco shrugs, "Apparently. I've heard of it, but I've never actually known anyone who's experienced the issue themselves."

Harry takes a stressful breath and continues, "Warning: Do not let the spray get into your eyes, nose, or mouth. Do not digest this product. Although it won't hold the same affects to wizards as it does on arachnids, side effects may still include: itching, burning, peeling skin, sore throat, watering or burning eyes, and a rash. If you get infected by the spray take a bezoar followed by a standard healing spell. If you do not have a bezoar or can't perform a healing spell, call the ministry's number with the extension 7647662668765 for poison control. Do not give to witches or wizards under the age of fourteen."

Draco gives a look, one someone would make once they've found they've been lied to or set up, "You can't make us do this, Professor. We're not even old enough."

"Oh. I'm sorry," comments the professor. "Would you like to de-spider this room the muggle way?"

"No," comments Harry in a hurry. "This is great. Thank you for giving us such valuable resources to use, Sir."

Draco picks up the vacuum and a duster, "Come on. Let's get this done. You take care of the spiders. I'll deal with the dust."


	14. Tryouts

The next morning is Saturday. _There will be tryouts today_. Harry feels sluggish, as he sits at the Slytherin table for breakfast. He tries to think of what would give him the most energy for the morning, before he decides on some eggs, a raspberry muffin, some French toast, and a lot of milk. He looks across to Draco, whom just keeps sipping water. "Okay. I know you're not usually hungry for breakfast, but we have tryouts today. Aren't you going to eat anything?"

Draco shakes his head, "No. I don't want to risk it, in case they go a little too hard on us." He takes another drink of water, as he thoughtfully comments, "Breakfast won't be of any use anyway, not if we were to get motion-sickness or something and spew it across the field." He shakes his head again, "No. By the time tryouts are finished it will probably be time for lunch anyway. It's only three hours away. I can wait."

Harry thinks about this for a moment, before he puts down his fork, "Yeah. You have a point. I don't want my first impression being puking. I'll just stick with the muffin."

Draco lifts up his glass of water, "Don't forget to hydrate."

Harry smiles, "Never."

* * *

There were a lot of players lined up on the edge of the field. Some of them were quite strong, some of them were very slender, but Harry notices not many of them had fallen in-between or held both characteristics. As Harry was rather thin, but yet he had somehow maintained some muscle through the years, this makes him feel just a little self-conscious.

They walk over and step into line, before Madam Hooch announces, "This is the Slytherin quidditch tryouts. Games are held most Saturdays, and practices can take place before breakfast, after classes, during part of a meal, or any other time the captain deems necessary. Games will be held whether it rains, snows, is foggy, or is insanely hot, and teams who are serious about quidditch will follow the same guidelines for practice. Anyone who doesn't like these conditions or are unable to handle them may leave right now." Harry looks down the line to see if anyone moves, but no one does. "Well, then. May I introduce to you Marcus Flint, a sixth year Chaser and our Slytherin Captain."

A tall and slender, muscular boy comes into view. He has grey eyes, black hair, and when he speaks his huge teeth are noticed, "I'm going to put you into three groups. If you're strong and tall, then I will have you try out for Keeper and Beater positions. If you're slender and short, then you will be trying out for Chaser and Seeker positions. If you have a mix of traits, then you will try out for every position." He takes a moment to walk a little down the line. "There are fifteen of you. Only seven will be chosen."

After a few minutes everyone is placed into their groups. Only three girls had bothered to try out, and they were all put in the group which would try out for Chaser. Harry felt a little sorry for Draco, as he had been the only boy placed in that group. It wasn't like there weren't any other thin guys trying out, obviously, but they were placed in Harry's group. _I suppose they were either seen as too tall or too muscular to only try out for the Chaser position._

He looks around, counting how many people would be trying out for what. It seems like only four would be trying out for Chaser, six would be trying out for Beater, and five would be trying out for everything. "Okay. Now, you may take a seat until you are told it's your time to be tested." He smirks at Harry's group, "Sorry guys, but I'm afraid you won't get much rest." If it weren't for the fact that Harry was almost certain the captain had to have been in his position at some point, then he may have complained about their group not getting any rest. "The first tests are for the Chasing position. First we will see who's the fastest, and then we will see who has the most accuracy for making goals."

They lined themselves up in the sky, and Flint went to the other end of the field so he could see who would finish first. Malfoy had made if first, followed by Terence Higgs, Harry, some brown-haired girl, and then Adrian Pucey. "Okay. Great. Now I want you each to do the same thing, except this time stop three-fourths of the way and attempt to score."

Many quaffles were thrown into the air, and when they each got one they went back to the start line. In the end Malfoy scored, Terence Higgs completely missed, Harry hit the rim, the brown-haired girl scored, and Adrian Pucey hit the rim. "Again," the captain yells. This time everyone but Terence Higgs scored, who still didn't make it close to the hoop. The third time Harry and the girl both scored. Draco's ball would have made it, but it had fallen just a little short. Terence and Adrian both hit the rim. "Okay. Come back down."

They do as Flint says, and when they do he picks Draco, Terence, and Harry out from the group, "You're all trying for Seeker. Individually you will catch the snitch. The goal here is to get the best time."

"Wait," Draco smiles. "So, whoever gets the best time becomes Seeker?"

"It's more complicated than that, Malfoy. If two of you get similar times, then it won't depend on who is faster. It would then depend on who has the best skill in another area." He yells to everyone, "Results will be posted in the common room on Monday. Don't expect an answer until then." He looks back at the three of them, "Terence, as last year's Seeker, why don't you go first."

Draco and Harry sit down and watch the previous Seeker chasing after a nearly invisible object. The snitch is small and gold, which blends in very well with today's weather. Soon Harry becomes bored and looks over at Draco, "You did very well with those Chaser tests."

Draco nods, "You weren't that bad yourself."

The compliment wasn't dealt with a smile, and Draco didn't seem very confident when Harry had mentioned his accomplishments. "What's wrong?"

"I messed up." Draco shakes his head, his legs raised to his chest, "That last goal. I—" He cuts himself off, taking a steading breath before continuing with more assurance, "The sun was in my eyes. If I hadn't slowed down, then I would have had enough momentum to get the ball through the hoop."

"Draco, you did a good job," Harry insists.

"Not good enough." He shakes his head again, "First years nearly never get put on the team. I'd probably have to do better than everyone to even be considered."

"Hey," Harry comments. "If either of us didn't do well enough, then we wouldn't have been picked out to try for Seeker."

Draco is silent for a moment, "Unless we're just so poor in everything else that he's giving us one last chance to prove ourselves."

Harry takes a deep breath, "Would you stop talking like that?" Draco looks up, his grey eyes shimmering with intruding tears. "You did very well, Draco. If anyone should have a reason to worry here, then it should be me. I'm the one with limited experience on a broom. I'm the one who just learned what quidditch was last week. If I'm not worried, then neither should you."

Draco slightly smiles, "It was kind of funny when you asked me if the balls were alive, and I had to explain that they were just charmed."

Harry smiles, "Yes, make fun of me. That will make you feel better." Draco laughs, but soon he's called to the field. He looks quickly back at Harry, clearly nervous. "Just do your best and everything will be okay."

"Right," says Draco, before he heads off to the field. Harry watches as Draco speeds after the small object, but at some point he seems to have lost it. He sees Draco put a hand to his forehead for a moment, before he looks around, sees the snitch, and attempts to go after it again. By the time it's caught, thirty minutes had passed. It was only about five or ten minutes later than what Terence had done, but Harry thought it was good enough.

However, when Draco comes back down and walks over to him, he has a tired frown on his face, "I didn't catch it in time."

Harry places a hand on Draco's shoulder, "You did your best. That's all that counts."

"Right," Draco whispers, before Harry goes to the field himself.

It doesn't take Harry long to figure out why it had taken so long for the other two to catch the snitch. It almost seemed like its own entity, as it had seemed to know what Harry was going to try. He was only an inch from it, but when he tried to grab it, it went off to the left. He turned to follow it, but he had lost it. He looks around for it, even flying in a circle to change perspective, but it takes a while to notice it had followed behind him. He tries to snatch it without luck, and hurries after it a while longer before finally catching it. He lands on the ground and walks over to the captain, "How did I do."

"Just a minute and a half better than Terence," he answers whilst writing something down on his parchment. "Good job." Harry gives the snitch back to the captain and it's put back into the case. Harry begins to go back to Draco, but before he can the captain speaks again. "Now, groups B and C, it's time for the Beater and Keeper tests." He points to an area of ground, "Line up. When I let go of the ball it will come towards you, so be ready."

Harry makes sure to line up towards the back, so he can get an understanding of how to hold the bat and how hard it would be to swing the bludgers away. He's glad he did, as one of the first people weren't ready and ended up with what appeared to be a very painful break in the wrist. "I said be ready," Captain Flint yells. "Go. Off with you then, right down to the hospital wing. Perhaps another player would like to join you." Multiple heads shake, and Harry finds one of them being his own. "Well, then. Be ready."

When it finally gets to him, Harry begins to feel just slightly unwell, but he jots it down to nerves and prepares himself for the worse. Soon enough, a big iron ball begins to fly towards him. Harry comes to realize it wasn't that fast, not nearly as fast as the snitch. _I can do this._ He waits, swings, and hits it with all he's got, and the ball goes hurtling back towards Flint.

He catches it, "Well done, Potter." He's been saying that to everyone who manages to swing the ball back for a nearly direct hit, but Harry can't blame him. He supposed too that it wasn't just out of fear, but that hitting the bludgers toward another player of the opposite team was the goal for a Beater.

When everyone was done hitting the bludger, Flint picks three people to compete for the Keeper position. This time he decides on a tall, thin boy, a tall, muscular guy, and another guy of muscle and average height. Watching, Harry realizes the position isn't just about being large enough to block the goal-post. You also had to have enough flexibility and be fast enough to prevent the other two hoops from being scored in as well.

"Do you think we have a chance," asks Draco.

"Definitely," Harry responds with just a little more confidence than what he feels.


	15. The Other Side

"Fancy a game of checkers?"

Harry sees Malfoy already has the game set up, but he shakes his head, "No. I'm going to try to find Hermione." He grabs a couple books, assuming she will be in the library, and remembers the Potion's packet, "Tomorrow night we can compare answers for the Potion's packet. I'll take the first half again."

Draco sees Harry about to leave, "Do you have to go this second? Can't it wait an hour or two? At least in class we're talking about class. During tryouts we were hardly even able to speak to each other."

Harry takes a deep breath, "No, Malfoy. It can't wait." and he makes his way across the dorm and out the door.

Draco turns to Crabbe and Goyle, "Are either of you up for a game?"

"Against you," asks Crabbe. "Not really."

Goyle comments, "Yeah, sure. I'll play you." and he walks over to the board and takes a seat before they begin.

* * *

When Harry gets to the library he sees Hermione sitting at a table and joins her, "So, what are you working on?"

"Potions. I'm doing the impossible task of seeing if I can complete it during the span of one weekend."

"Brilliant," comments Harry as he opens his own book. "I need to finish the first five pages before tomorrow night."

"Rehashing it again with Malfoy, are you?"

"Yeah," answers Harry. "But I feel like I do enough studying to make up for it. I just want to do my best. You know?"

Hermione nods, "Yeah. I know."

"So," Harry comments. "Should we continue, then?"

"What," asks Hermione. "You're not going to try to apologize for Malfoy again?"

Harry shakes his head in slight annoyance, "I'm done apologizing for him. He may be a nice bloke, at least to me, but he should be able to admit when his family's ideas are at least a little messed up." He looks up at Hermione, "He should have apologized to you himself."

Hermione takes a deep breath, "I'm well aware of that, but he's just a kid like the rest of us." She pauses as she flips through some pages. "We can't help the way we're raised. I just hope he has enough sense to grow out of this before someone gets hurt."

"But he has already hurt someone, Hermione. He hurt you, your feelings."

Hermione shows a sad smile, "Harry. This is school. If it weren't that word, it would have been another." She looks down to the page, "It may have hurt a little, but I can deal."

"So, you're okay." Harry pauses, "You sure about that?"

Hermione fakes a smile, "I'm super sure." before she continues answering questions from the packet. "Didn't we already have this one?"

Harry looks at her page and sees the question on the difference between monkshood and wolfs bane, "Yeah. I think so."

Hermione nods, "He must think that if we see it enough, then we will be forced to remember it."

Harry nods too, before he looks down at the question asking for the uses of a bezoar and where to find one, "Do you remember which page bezoars are on?"

"I think they were in the section that deals with poisons and antidotes."

Harry nods, "Thank you."

"No problem," comments Hermione, but her writing slows as her thoughts double. "But should you be here? I mean, you do your Potion's assignment with Malfoy and didn't you say he didn't like that you were spending more time with me?"

Harry lets out a long, irritated breath, "He can wait. After all, we did just have an entire evening of detention together last night, along with three hours of quidditch tryouts this morning." Harry's breathing slows a little, as the thoughts catch up to him.

"What is it?"

Harry licks the inside of his lips before mentioning, "He does have another side of him, you know. A softer or more emotional side."

"What do you mean," asks Hermione.

Harry takes a moment to find a way to say it without making Draco look weak, "He just really wants to do his best with things. He's afraid of failure, and more afraid of disappointing his family by not doing well enough." He pauses and looks at a receptive Hermione, "He did so good in quidditch tryouts today, but he was sure he had failed." His eyes widen. "I mean, he did really good," he emphasizes. "He was the fastest one in the flying test, and he did perfectly when shooting two of the three hoops." He takes a breath as his eyes shift, "But he thinks that because he fell short for the third goal, then he won't make the team."

Hermione gives a somewhat concerned look, "It sounds like he's really hard on himself."

Harry nods and quietly says, "Yeah. He seems to be."

Hermione comments with assurance, "Well, don't be too worried. He's a Malfoy, a nice title and lots of money. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"That's the thing," comments Harry. "I'm worried that his family will make things worse. You should see how miserable he gets whenever he gets a letter, or how worried he gets about his father's expectations. He'd probably be better off without it all."

It takes a moment for Hermione to speak, "I may regret saying this later, just because I feel like I don't get enough time with you already." Harry starts a smile, and she can't help but mimic it herself. "But so long as he has a friend as good as you, then he will be alright."

Harry nods, "Yeah. You're probably right." before they continue with their work, mild conversation taking place every so often.

* * *

\- Want to know what Draco's been writing in his journal? I have the fanfiction Draco's Journal Year One available now. Be warned: it will contain spoilers, if not now then eventually.


	16. The Results

When Harry and Draco wake up Monday morning and head to the common room, they soon notice everyone gathering in one area. "What are they doing," asks Harry.

"Checking the message board. Maybe the quidditch results are there."

"Wait." He keeps Draco from walking over there, "We have a message board?"

Draco smiles, "How else are we supposed to get information?"

"I don't know," mumbles Harry. "I guess I just thought it would be announced during dinner or that we'd be told individually or something."

Draco sees the crowd clearing a little, "Come on." He pulls Harry towards the board and reads down the list, "Beaters are Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole. Chasers are Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey, and—" He turns to Harry with a giant grin, "And me. I made it."

Harry tries to smile too, "I knew you would." He attempts to look behind Draco but isn't able to see anything, "Am I on there?"

Draco's smile lessens as he turns around and continues to read, "Keeper is Miles Bletchley and the Seeker is you." He turns back to Harry, his grin wider now.

Harry laughs a small smile through his shock, "I— I made the team."

Draco nods, "Yeah, and you're the Seeker." He looks back around for just a quick look, unable to contain his happiness. "And I'm your alternate."

"My alternate," asks Harry.

"Yeah. Basically, if you're not well or have low marks, then I replace you for a game." His smile slips, "It's a lot of responsibility for a first year. Please don't get sick."

Harry half-smiles in acknowledgement, "I'll try not to." before he looks over and sees the brown-haired girl from tryouts.

Her eyes are a powerful light blue, and tears fill them before falling to her cheeks. "I don't understand. I did way better than that Adrian guy. Why didn't I make it?"

A dark-haired blond with golden-brown eyes comforts her with a hug, "It's not your fault. Those stupid boys just don't know a good thing when they see it."

Harry thinks about telling her that he thought she should have been on the team, but since he's just one of those 'stupid boys' he figures anything he could say would just make things worse. "Hey. Potter. What's wrong? You don't seem very happy about making the team."

Harry shakes his head for a moment, "It's not that." He points his head towards the crying girl and whispers, "She didn't make the team, but I remember her doing well."

Draco gives a quick glance over his shoulder before commenting, "Interesting. I remember her doing the most well with scoring goals. I would have thought she would have made it before me."

They're quiet for a moment, before Harry suggests, "So, breakfast then?"

Draco looks away for a moment, "You know what, I think I should write to my father on my progress and achievements. I'll catch up with you. Okay?"

Harry nods, "Alright." and begins to head out of the common room.

Draco turns around to head back to the dorm, but Crabbe and Goyle block his path. He tries to take a step to the left to get past them, but they block his path again, "Very funny, guys." He tries again, "Seriously. Let me through."

Crabbe asks, "Where are you going?"

Draco shrugs, "I'm just going to write a letter to my father."

"Can't that wait until this afternoon?"

Draco almost laughs with stress, "I just want to write it now, so my father knows how well I'm doing before he sends another letter to me."

Goyle carefully looks around the room before commenting, "You're doing a sport now. You can't afford to skip meals anymore."

Draco laughs in defense, "It's just breakfast. Everyone skips it. Lunch is only three hours after it anyway." He tries to move past again, but it doesn't work. "Trust me. I'll be fine."

Goyle continues, "We may be your friends, but you were right before. Your father is paying us." He sees his friend look to the left with a breath of annoyance, "He's paying us to keep you more safe and to report to him anything dangerous."

Draco yells in frustration, "Yeah, well, I'm not a danger to myself, so you can just sod off and indulge yourselves in your oh so precious little breakfast." Realizing how loud he was, Draco looks around and sees that the few people who remained were now staring at him. There couldn't be more than five people in the room, and most of them were girls and so had little impact on his circle, but he still finds himself pushing past his guards in a need to leave. He doesn't care that they let him leave. He just couldn't stay there. After all, he has things to do.

* * *

The letter couldn't be more perfect. He reads it again as the sparkling glow of the invisible ink slowly begins to fade. He had written about how well he's been doing in Potions, how he's been studying hard to do better in Transfiguration, and finally how he's now a Chaser on the Slytherin quidditch team.

When the ink dries and becomes invisible he folds the letter into thirds, before he places it in an envelope. He would have to use a school owl to send it, as he hadn't felt the need to have his own yet. There was a family owl, but his father or mother would be using it. He looks at the clock and realizes if he wants to send it, then he'd have to go up to the owlery now in order to make it to class on time.

It takes him a while to walk to the west tower which holds the owlery, and when he sends the letter off he takes a moment to admire the view. It was a really peaceful scene with a clear blue sky and a bit of grassland showing until it hit the restless sea. He almost wished he could stay there for a few more moments, but he knows if he did then he'd be late.

He already had his Potions and Herbology materials, so he didn't have to go back to the dorm. Instead he went straight off to Potions. It was a class always taken with Gryffendor, and he begins to feel really stupid when his friend is found chatting with the Granger girl and that obnoxious Weasley. He walks up to them, but it's Harry who speaks first, "Hey. When you said you'd catch up with me later, I thought you meant the second part of breakfast."

Draco looks from Ron to Hermione and back to Harry, "Yes. I was going to, but then I suddenly didn't feel like it." _I really had planned to go, because it's a time to just talk to Harry. But I wasn't going to go just because Goyle told me to, and I knew Father probably wouldn't be sending anything on a Monday morning anyway._

"Why? Were you feeling unwell," asks Harry.

"Not exactly. I just wasn't hungry." He looks at the Gryffindors again and shifts uncomfortably, "Class is going to start soon. I'm going to take a seat."

Hermione sees Harry look at Malfoy in suspicion, "What is it?"

"Nothing," comments Harry. "It's probably nothing."

Hermione nods and changes the subject, "So, you were saying that the results for your quidditch team were shown."

Harry nods with a slight smile, "Yes. Draco's a Chaser and I'm the Seeker."

Hermione gleams at him, "You should be proud yourself."

"Yeah," says Ron. "You've got to be the youngest Seeker in a century."

"Am I," Harry doubts.

"Probably," answers Ron. "It's not a position taken lightly." He looks around before whispering, "I would congratulate you, but I don't want to betray my family."

"Betray," asks Harry.

Hermione smiles, "The Gryffindor quidditch team has just been filled with Weasleys."

"Oh," says Harry. "I hope I don't make anything awkward or anything for you."

Ron shakes his head, "Don't worry about it. It will be fine."

Harry was going to say something else, but at that moment Snape decides to start class, "Everyone take a seat." Harry does so and Snape continues, "Now, who has finished their packets this weekend?"


	17. To Be Accomplished

"You've received two packages," comments Harry.

Draco is silent as he reads the letter, but the disappointment on his face is evident, "I just sent the news to him yesterday. How did he even get these in time?"

"What's going on?"

Malfoy shakes his head, "So, that letter I sent my father. I told him I made the team, and how does he thank me?" He opens up the packages to reveal a container of what appears to be a kind of flavored bread and the other containing a lot of beef jerky. "No 'I'm so proud of you, Draco'. No 'when is your first match'. No 'how is it going'. None of that." He looks at the letter again, "Just a 'make sure to keep up your energy'."

Crabbe comments, "I'm sure he's just worried."

"Too worried to give me a simple compliment," Draco complains with hurt.

Harry waits a couple minutes to ask, "Why would he be worried?"

Draco takes a long breath, irritated with himself for sharing so much, but being too emotionally tired to care, "He's afraid I'll have an accident, but this is quidditch. I don't see how tripling my carbs or doubling my protein is supposed to help keep a bludger from my head." He motions to the packages, "That's what these are by the way. The banana nut bread has three times the normal amount of carbs, and the beef jerky has twice the normal amount of protein." He looks up, "Do you want to try something?"

"As good as that offer is, I'm afraid I have to say no."

"Why?"

Harry takes a moment to respond, "Your father may not be congratulating you for your achievement, but I believe that this is his way of trying to support you. If he thinks that more carbs will help you focus or that more protein will help you make longer shots to make a goal, then I don't want to take that opportunity away."

Draco stays quiet for a few minutes, contemplating the true meaning to the gifts. To him it didn't mean to try his best. To him it was his father's way of saying not to mess up, but he wasn't about to give Harry all the reasons why he thought that. "I should bring these back to the dorm," he mumbles.

"What about breakfast," comments Goyle.

Draco mutters, "I have enough food there." before standing. "I'll just have a stupid pastry or something."

* * *

Later that day Hermione walks into the library and sees Millicent sitting at a table. She walks forward, glancing at an empty table. Normally she likes to get some studying done by herself and she's sure Millicent must feel the same way, but looking at the Slytherin girl again Hermione knows she must hold the knowledge of how to get the Potion packets done in time. _I don't think she's been cheating either. Aside from study group she's always sitting alone._

Hermione slowly walks up to the black-haired girl and sits down, "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

She looks up from her work, "That would depend on the question."

"Yes. Right. Well, I was just wondering how you manage to get the Potion packets finished in time. I mean, it doesn't look like you're working with anyone on them."

Her eyebrows furrow over her blue-grey eyes, "Wouldn't that be cheating?"

"I think so." Hermione shrugs, "But some people may disagree."

She looks back down at her books, "I would think that to be cheating. Our end of term exam is individual, I suspect. Plus, if the packets were meant to be done in groups, then we wouldn't all get packets separately."

"Yes. You're right," responds Hermione, only in slight annoyance. "But you didn't answer my question." Millicent looks up again. "How do you manage to finish the packets in time? I feel like I've done nothing but work on them whenever I can, but I still can't find enough time to complete them."

Millicent writes down some things on a sheet of parchment, possibly attempting to multi-task while continuing the conversation, "If you can't find enough time to do the homework, then you make time to do the homework."

"That doesn't make sense."

"It makes perfect sense," the girl explains. "We have three extra hours each day, during which we do nothing but chat and eat."

Hermione's mouth gapes open, "So, that's what you've been doing? You've been skipping meals to complete your work."

"You make it sound so horrible."

Hermione smiles in shock and worry, "Well, it doesn't seem very healthy."

"Well," Millicent responds. "It's not like I do it all the time, and even when I do it, I sometimes find myself taking something from the hall quick anyway." Hermione doesn't comment. "Come on. Let me help you."

"How," asks Hermione.

"Just follow my schedule for one weekend." She takes out another sheet of parchment, "Friday morning eat a good breakfast, for lunch grab a quick muffin before heading to the library, start working on it after classes have ended, up until the second half of dinner. For dinner make sure you have something decent, because for the rest of the weekend you will just be taking something quick from the hall. Since there's no classes on the weekend, you will be expected to be in the library during that time, and you will still be working up until the second part of dinner. This will give you a total of about thirty hours of work time, more than enough to complete the packet and any other homework you may have."

Hermione hesitates, wishing she could get at least some free time to walk around the grounds or be with friends, but this girl appeared to be really smart and clearly knew what she was doing, "I suppose that sounds reasonable."

Millicent slightly smiles, "If you're lucky, you may even get done in time to have Sunday afternoon and night all to yourself."

Hermione nods, "I'll give it one weekend, but if it becomes counterproductive for me, then I won't be doing it again."

"Sounds fair."


	18. Practice and Scheduling

Today is Slytherin's first quidditch practice. Early that morning they had noticed the message board said that practices would be taking place on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday evenings from five to eight, equating a total of twelve practicing hours each week. Harry thinks this is overdoing it, even if just a little. _What could we even work on six hours a week?_ He feels the only explanation is that there would be a lot of redundancy in their training.

Their first hour was spent in the locker room, or one of the four tents placed near the field they used as locker rooms. The Slytherin tent has green and silver stripes, and a blackboard had been stashed within it. Time seems slow as Flint kept going on about the dos and don'ts of each position. Draco and Harry often find themselves offering empathetic looks of annoyance and boredom to each other, as they had expected more to practice than just being told what to do.

The second hour consists of simple drills. Everyone has to fly back-and-forth across the field doing the tasks commanded by the captain. During the one where they are told to fly as fast as they can to the goal posts to the ground, touching it, and then back to their start position, Harry notices Malfoy slow down for a moment, his hand held to his forehead. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Draco mutters, before he goes faster in an attempt to lower suspicion and to finish the drill.

The third hour is spent doing section training. The Chasers are practicing to make goals with the Keeper blocking them, the Beaters bat a bludger to each other, and Harry is left to practice his time with catching the snitch. He finds this to be a bit tedious, but looking around he notices others are also finding their tasks a bit routine and boring. Everyone except Draco, who seems to get more frustrated with the more time that passes.

Of course, Draco is frustrated. _It seems like the more I try the worse I get._ Trying wasn't the issue, though, and he knows it. He knows after the first few goals his strength just couldn't handle the distance anymore, but although rage is supposed to increase strength it also lowers his accuracy. By the time practice is finished he's only sure of one thing. _It's going to take way more than just twelve hours of practice per week to get me into shape._

* * *

After practice had ended Draco had gone back to the Slytherin dormitories. There had been idle conversation, which he skipped out on, and when he said he was worn out from practice and therefore just wanted to go to sleep early, he could see looks of concern and irritation on Crabbe and Goyle's faces. However, they didn't try to talk him out of it this time. _It's not like I was really lying anyway; I am tired, but I'm more tired of not doing well enough than I am from practice._

He takes out a piece of parchment, along with the four different colored inks he had been gifted with this morning. It was a nice gift, actually, and Draco knows it was probably more of his mother's idea, as his father was more of a practical man. Thinking back, Draco thinks that the rainbow ink may have also been his mother's idea.

He looks down at the four colors presented before him: emerald green, forest green, lightning blue, and lightning yellow. No red. He wonders why for a moment, before coming to the conclusion that they would want him to focus on his own house. _But that wouldn't explain the yellow or blue._

Draco picks out the vibrant emerald green, admiring how it sticks out on the page as he draws eight columns and twenty rows. He then gets the forest green to use for times and a black he would use for activities. He labels the first column _Time_ , and then continues labeling them with the days of the week. _What time should I wake up? What time should I go to sleep?_ He curses under his breath, as it's hard to make a schedule when life decides to just tear it apart every time you try to do so.

He takes a deep breath, deciding that even though his Astronomy class won't end until after one, he's just going to have to put that as an estimate anyway. _Wait._ He keeps himself from writing that, now remembering that he needs fifteen minutes of preparation before bed. He shakes his head in irritation, "Friday morning change at one-ten, go to sleep at one-thirty A.M. and wake up at eight A.M. to take a shower and get ready." He smirks, remembering how confusing their schedules are. _It was the smartest students that didn't think there was class, as midnight would be considered a new day on the 24-hour watch, which would read 0 at that time. So, they were thinking the class was Thursday mornings, instead of Friday mornings. Some of them even got detentions for trying to attend the class a day early._

Draco looks down at the schedule, realizing he can now fill in the first box as Astronomy. He continues to work on _Friday_ , so he can use it as a guide for the others. He writes down _8:45 head to Breakfast_ , _9:15 practice quidditch_ , _9:50 Potions_. He knows he's pushing it, but he can't just spend ten or fifteen minutes practicing after spending ten minutes getting there and changing clothes. He looks at the schedule again, deciding to write _Potions_ again, as other classes during other days at that time may not be double. _12:00 switch materials and go to Lunch_.

He hates this thought. _We shouldn't have to waste an entire hour on food, but I can't practice either. If a captain is going to choose extra time to practice before a game, this would be that time._ He thinks for a moment, wondering what else he could do, but then he concludes to just leave it for right now. _12:45 Transfiguration_ , _1:45 History of Magic_. He remembers they currently hold detention on Fridays, "Two forty-five: Detention with Snape."

He sighs, "Eight O'clock: Dinner." and doesn't bother trying to find something to do during that time, as last time they had detention they were late to dinner anyway. He leaves some space in case other days he could do something else, and then continues, "Eight fifty-five: go to dorms. Nine O'clock: Potion's packet." He continues onto Saturday, "Potion's packet until one-ten. Change. One-thirty: go to sleep. With the full day finished, he uses it as a reference for the other days, making sure not to forget about his Flying class and actual quidditch practices.

After he's finished he looks the schedule over carefully. Some things were a stretch, like thinking he could get to the fields, change, and get to the dorm all within an hour, and expect to make an appearance at dinner beforehand and also hoping to get at least thirty minutes of practice in. He frowns, as it was nearly impossible and his expectations of this perfect plan may not be as perfect as he wishes them to be. He's also disappointed, as there's a lot of empty space during some of the night-time hours, but he had figured it was better to be flexible. He may not feel like it's good enough, but at least something more flexible has a harder time breaking.

"Hey. What are you doing up? I thought you said you were tired."

Draco's eyes widen a little, as he's shocked by the sudden appearance of Crabbe and Goyle hovering over him, one with their arms crossed and the other with his eyes squinted with suspicion. Harry just on-looks, putting his scattered materials away and fixes his bedding. Draco finds himself quickly rolling up the parchment in his hands, although he's not completely sure why. It's not like scheduling your day is a shame, and he hadn't written anything bad onto it. "I am tired, but my thoughts were wandering." He holds up the scroll, "I figured doing some writing would calm them down."

They don't budge, still giving their accusing look, not that anyone but him is going to notice the small differences enough to know this. He smiles wide and takes out a container, "I also knew if you didn't see me eat, then you'd worry about how all the exercise from quidditch would affect me. So." He takes out a pastry, taking a bite and swallowing it before saying, "Chomp, chomp."

Crabbe shakes his head, "You're not a funny person. You only ever try to be when you're trying to get out of something."

"What," Draco smiles. "Can't I just be in a good mood?"

Harry watches Goyle comment, "No. You can't."

Crabbe interprets, "What he means is, you hardly ever are."

Harry finds Draco being quieter than he's ever seen him, and it reminds him a lot of a dog that just got caught doing something bad. "Now," continues Goyle. "Now that that's been cleared up, why don't you show us that scroll you hid away?"

Malfoy picks up the scroll and hands it to him, and while they look it carefully over he puts the pastry back with the rest, not even in the mood to pretend he's hungry. Well, now, that's a lie, he realizes. _I am hungry, but I'm not in the mood for something so rich and sweet._ He sees Goyle shake his head, as the guards murmur to each other behind the parchment. _And with how upset they are with me, I clearly don't deserve a treat anyway._

Goyle rolls the scroll up, nearly smashing it in a slight fist, before he holds it out for Draco to see, "Spreading yourself out a bit thin, aren't you?"

Draco licks his lips, knowing what they're really upset about, "I've made time for everything. You can't deny that."

Goyle shifts his eyes around for a moment, "You know your father doesn't like it when you overdo things."

Draco laughs with irritation, but he feels his eyes begin to sting, "I wouldn't have to overdo things if he'd just acknowledge that I'm good enough the way it is, if he even acknowledged any of my accomplishments at all."

It looks like Goyle has a lot to say, but at that moment Pike and Blaise walk in. He whispers in frustration, "We'll talk about this later." and throws the scroll back at him, before he walks past Crabbe's bed to get to his own. He just lies down, grabbing a book from the night stand, but he looks too mad to possibly be reading anything.

Harry sits on the side of his bed and sees a hurt look on Draco's face, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Draco grabs for the covers and pulls them over him, "I'm fucking brilliant." before he shuts the curtains of the bed and turns the other way. The tears that had stung his eyes are finally falling from his eyes' grasp, and as the cold dungeon air seems to be freezing them he tries to focus on the warmth of the blankets. He keeps himself relative to that position for a few hours, just listening to Blaise marvel about his day. His supposed friends have been whispering, but the words are very vague and when they're not they're coded. _It's not a fancy code. More like replacing some words with others or skipping words altogether._ There comes a time when they do say something disturbing not in code, about whether or not to tell his father, so Draco peeks out the side of his curtains to examine the room. He's glad to see that Pike and Blaise are too busy to notice and that Harry had gone somewhere else, perhaps the bathroom, so none of them had heard what his guards had just spoken. As Draco continues to listen, he hears them continuing to discuss the issue.

"We shouldn't bother him with something so small," comments Crabbe.

"It's not small," responds Goyle. "You know how Draco is. If we don't do something about it now, then it will get out of hand, and when it does we will be to blame."

"But we both saw him earlier. He's doing okay."

"Or he just wants us to think he is," Goyle insinuates.

There's a pause, "His schedule makes time for everything. That's all we could ask of him, what with his father's expectations and everything." There's another pause. "He's done worse before. He's gotten used to worse before. At least this time he's remembered the important things. Like he said, he's made time for everything. So, why are you so angry with him?"

Draco hears a stress-releasing breath. "I'm not angry with him. I'm worried about him. You know what happened last time." Draco knows what he's referring to. How could he not? It seemed to be all his father repeated nowadays. It's like now that he's made that one mistake, no matter how hard he tries he can't do anything right or please anyone, even more so than before. His mind wanders to Harry for a moment, acknowledging the compliments he's given and the confidence he appeared to have in him. "We should tell his father about this."

"No. Let's wait a little while. Just give him a chance. He at least deserves that."

"And if he slips up," Goyle asks, hesitant to do as Crabbe suggests.

"Then now he has even more people to help catch him when he falls."

There's a moment of silence, before Goyle comments, "Should we tell Harry? You know, so that there's another person who knows what to look for?"

There's a laugh, "No. We're not going to fill his life with spies, and it's too early in their friendship anyway. He'll find out eventually, but Draco would hate us even more if we told his new friend of one of his more vulnerable times."

"Are you saying he isn't vulnerable now?"

"No. What I'm saying is that he's better than he once was and that we should be supporting him, not doing things to push him away or make him lie to us further."

The conversation suddenly stops, and Draco hears Harry say, "Hey. What's up?"

Crabbe and Goyle make up a nice lie, of course. _Although, is saying they were just talking really a lie, when they were talking?_ Draco listens in, hearing all the small-talk and mention of playing a game, and he soon begins to wonder when all this had started. _Was it just talking every once in a while, while I was showering or in the bathroom, or did this start when I didn't go to the hall for breakfast earlier this week?_

Draco doesn't really like the idea of his more informed friends hanging out with his new oblivious one, but he doesn't know what can be done. He finds himself getting out of bed to use the bathroom and change into his pajamas, but he doesn't speak and just goes back to bed.

* * *

\- Even though a few of the students in this fanfiction are going to great lengths to do their best, it's important to not forget things like sleep and eating. A lack of these things usually undermined a person's ability to do well, especially if it's over an extended amount of time. This fanfiction is not meant to promote this behavior, but for those who already do it or are considering it, please keep an eye on your health. During my middle school and early high-school years I found that even working past midnight (for a total of at least 5 or 6 working hours each night) and neglecting sleep still didn't give me enough time to finish all my assignments. So, I started to use lunch as a studyhall, and if I made it to school on time I did the same thing for breakfast. I usually ate dinner, but it still wasn't enough to keep my weight up. I don't know what my lowest weight was, as we didn't have a scale at the time, but people were really worried. I even had my teachers telling me not to work during lunch... It's just important to keep an eye on your health. If you can find some other way to get more work done, then I hope you do that instead, because after a short while running on 6 hours of sleep with one meal a day no longer works. Stay safe and do well. I wish you all the best. Guten Glück. (Saying it in German, hoping that won't jinx anything.)


	19. Busy Bees

Saturday afternoon is a calm, peaceful day, or at least that's how it looks when Harry walks along the trail outside in the light breeze. Leaves have begun to turn to red and orange, but the grass remains as green as ever. Harry notices Ron sitting under such a tree near the path opposite from that of the lake. He walks up to him, "Hey. How's it going?" hoping mild conversation will mend whatever broke when he had gotten sorted into Slytherin.

"Not much. Just sitting, I guess," he mumbles as he pulls on the grass. Harry's quiet, only nodding as a response, unsure of what else to say. "What about you? Why aren't you hanging out with those pompous Slytherin friends of yours?"

Harry nearly rolls his eyes, "They're not as arrogant as they sound, Ron. They're just worried about looking proper and reputations and all."

"Whatever," Ron comments, making a point to look in the opposite direction.

There's a moment of silence before Harry continues, as he wasn't sure whether to just display his anger and move on or to actually attempt to be his friend. "To answer your question, Draco insists that since he would normally be in class right now then that he should either be doing homework or training during this time. As far as Crabbe and Goyle, they make good roommates, but we're not friends. Not really. We just chat and sometimes play games if we're bored and it's past curfew."

"Wait," Ron looks back around. "Go back to the part that even though it's Saturday Malfoy still feels the need to work."

"What," asks Harry. "You mean the part where I said that Draco said that if he would normally be working at this time during the week, then he should be using the time during the weekend as well?"

"Yeah," Ron nearly exclaims in awe. "Blimey. It must be contagious. Hermione's been in the library all weekend, and I mean all weekend. She just grabbed a muffin and left me this morning, and for lunch she did the same thing with a pudding. I've had to resort talking to Nevil, which I mean isn't bad or anything, but I'd rather talk with Hermione than to him."

Harry nods in understanding. All those times where Draco would desert him, Crabbe, and Goyle, seemingly from some random emotional outburst, it left him with forcing very mind-numbing conversations with the other two. It's not like they weren't smart enough for their age, but Harry just couldn't find a lot of decent topics and they weren't sharing very many things themselves. _Like I said, they make for good roommates, but unless something somehow changes, we couldn't really be friends._ "How has Hermione been?"

Ron looks at him in surprise, "I thought you two were speaking."

"We are," Harry stretches the last word in unsure thought. "But mostly we study, joke a little, complain about some things, but I don't really know how she is."

Ron is quiet for a moment, "Neither do I." He stands from the ground, "She's just one of those busy bees, Harry. Not only that, but she's so mind-focused you'd swear her to be a Ravenclaw." He shakes his head, "My point is, she doesn't really talk about feelings." and shrugs. "She'll express them sometimes, blurts out opinions and facts a lot, but she's not one to really just talk about things. You know?"

Harry nods, "So, how are you?" Ron looks to the blue, cloudy sky, and releases a long, stressful breath. "That bad," Harry smiles.

Ron shakes his head, "You wouldn't believe the week I've had. First, Scabbers disappears and when I find him he's eating holes through all my clothes like some friggin' moth. Then I can't find my wand for a whole two days of classes, and then I find out that I'm doing poor in Potions because of those stupid packets I can't manage to finish." He stops his complaints, as a giant lightbulb appears to light up in his brain, "Hey, Harry, how do you get the packets done in time. I mean, I know Hermione is trying for extra credit and all and I could really use that, but I can't even seem to finish the packet by the end of the week."

Harry gives a concerning look, "Well, how long does it take you to finish a page, back-to-back? For me it takes an hour."

Ron's eyes go wide in shock, but his eyebrows furrow in worry, "I don't know how long it takes me, but if it's an hour per page that would explain why I haven't completed any."

Harry begins to feel sorry for Ron, after all he did have a bad week. _I wouldn't want a bad week of mine being followed by me finding out I'm receiving one of the three failing grades, but at least his is the closest to passing._ Harry walks up to Ron and comments, "Okay. You have a few options here. You can either follow Hermione's lead and work the entire weekend, or you can be resourceful enough to find a loophole in the assignment."

Ron gives a stern, knowing look, "Is that what you and Malfoy have been doing, being resourceful?" It was less of a question and more of an accusation.

Harry's eyes squint, "Would you just shut up and let me help you?" and suddenly Ron becomes quiet as an overlay of guilt now carries in his posture and expression. _Deserves him right. He was the one who asked how I've been finishing them in the first place._ "You can work with someone else, or if you're afraid that may be considered cheating, then the questions sometimes repeat themselves from packet to packet. If you know where your graded ones are, then you could just find half the questions and answers, cutting your needed time in half."

Ron's smile shows his unsureness and possible guilt, "I threw those away." Harry gives him a look. "I know it's stupid. Hermione told me not to, said it's important to keep them for revisions and tests, but I honestly didn't think I'd need them and plus who wants to keep a stack of bad grades anyway?"

Harry tries to think of an alternative, "You said you talk to Nevil?" Ron only nods. "Well, then, there's your solution. Work with him."

Ron laughs, "You mean nervous, clumsy Nevil?" before continuing in a near shout. "We probably wouldn't be in the classroom for more than five seconds before he'd blurt out what we had done." Harry gives a look of defeat. He has been trying his best to help Ron, but he seemed to have a reason for not doing anything; some of them were of valid reasoning, but he had to figure something out if he really wanted to pass the class. "It's fine. I'll find someone else."

"You sure," Harry asks.

"Yeah," says Ron, although Harry can see he's not nearly so confident. He backs away, "Hey. Look. Thanks for the help, but I promised Fred and George I'd watch them practice. I'll see you later." Harry opens his mouth to speak, but Ron has already started to run off and so he doesn't bother.

When Snape goes around to collect the packets on Monday morning not only does the usual three Slytherins turn it in, but Hermione, Ron, and just a couple more Slytherins manage to as well, "Well, well. It looks like some of you are finally starting to take this class seriously." He mumbles, "I like it." as he places the packets on his desk.

Hermione looks at Ron, "How did you manage to finish? I didn't see you working for the better part of the weekend."

Ron gives a look, "You wouldn't, would you, hiding yourself in that library of yours."

Hermione returns a look, "Come on. Tell me what you did."

Ron looks over at Harry for a moment, "Well, I got some good pointers." When Hermione sees who he's looking at he turns his head back to her, "And when my brothers heard I was failing, they decided that couldn't be an option." He pauses and tries to shrug, "I got help."

Hermione whispers fiercely, "So, here I am slaving away in the library all weekend, and here every other person is just getting help."

"Miss Granger. Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

Hermione looks up at the teacher, a bit embarrassed, but she's still mad that her hard work seems to mean nothing, "I was just telling Ron here that when I'm spending literally my entire weekend in the library that it's not fair when other people just finish after a couple hours of help." Some people in the class look at her like she's crazy, while others can't help but feel sorry for her.

Snape doesn't seem fazed by this knowledge, "Miss Granger, over the years I've had people complete the packets in a number of ways. I don't agree with all of them, but I respect the resourcefulness people have." He sees her look to the table, seemingly about to cry, "Now, don't get upset. With how things are going, it seems like only you and Miss Bulstrode are likely to exceed expectations on the class's semester exam." He rounds about to get a good view of the class, "I may respect resourcefulness, but I will not tolerate thievery. If I find out someone actually worked hard on the assignment by themselves, only to then have someone else copy the answers or claim the packet as their own, then the thief will get a zero on the packet and be given a week of detention. Do you hear me?"

The class mumbles, "Yes, Professor Snape."

"Excellent. Now, find page 52. Today we're reviewing poisons and antidotes, before we attempt to create our own antidote during next class."

Hermione raises her hand, but the teacher doesn't call on her and instead continues. She puts her hand down, "Excuse me Professor, but what antidote will we be making next time?"

He looks at her sternly, "If you must know, it just barely makes it into the category of an antidote. All it really is, is a specific healing lotion used when someone has gotten a rash from a poisonous plant." He pauses, "Now, if you interrupt my class again, I will take ten points from your house."

Harry responds, "But Professor, she raised her hand to ask, but you didn't call on her."

"The same rule goes for you, ." He addresses the entire class, "Now, be quiet. We have a lot to review, and we don't need any accidents in this next lab."


	20. Catching Up and Running Late

"You look stressed."

Draco looks up at Harry, releasing a long breath, before taking the container out of the package. The container seems to be occupied with some kind of fudge complete with tiny nut pieces sticking out of it. "I really wish he'd just quit it. I just can't keep up." He almost laughs in realization, "I still haven't finished off the candies from the first week or the pastries from the week after that. How am I supposed to catch up when he keeps sending me these things?"

Harry sees the letter, "Does it say it's specially made like your last ones were, or is this just normal fudge."

He doesn't even have to look at the letter again, "It's normal fudge."

Harry nods, "Well, that doesn't seem very healthy anyway. He probably just sent it to you as a treat." He pauses for a second before suggesting, "If you want I could take this batch for you. You know, just to give you another week to catch up."

Draco looks relieved, "Thank you."

"Don't expect it every week," Harry hurries. "These are gifts for you, and I don't feel very happy about your father making time to send you these only to have them go to me."

"Don't worry. I understand." Draco looks over at the clock, before turning his head back to Harry, "How about I take these to the dungeon for you? I still need to grab some beef jerky for on my way to practice."

Harry shrugs, "Yeah. Sure." and watches as Malfoy leaves out of the great hall.

Goyle comments, "You shouldn't have done that." and then Crabbe nudges him in the shoulder.

Harry gives a look of suspicion, "Is there something I'm missing?"

"No," answers Crabbe. "It's just that Mr. Malfoy has ordered us not to eat anything Draco receives, because he wants to make sure there's things around in case Draco gets hungry."

Harry's not sure whether to laugh or not, "But Draco doesn't get hungry. We had an entire argument about it during detention. He just thinks hunger is a want that can be controlled." Crabbe and Goyle give each other a look. "What is it?"

Goyle responds, "Nothing. Just promise you won't take anything from him again, even if it's offered."

"Okay," Harry stretches out in confusion. "But clearly it isn't 'nothing'. What am I missing?"

Crabbe comments, "It really is nothing." He pauses for a moment, as if carefully planning how to say what he needs to next, "But you know how Draco is. He gets, well, busy, and Mr. Malfoy just likes to think that if there's food around, then Draco will consider eating it at some point or another."

"And does he," asks Harry.

It takes a moment for Crabbe to answer, "Not really. No. I suppose it's hard to even remember it's around when it's all crammed in one drawer."

Harry doesn't know what to say, so Goyle adds, "It's not something that needs to be talked about at length, but believe us when we say Mr. Malfoy wouldn't appreciate Draco giving the food away. You're better off not taking anything again." Crabbe nods, as if to say it's true. "Another thing: the containers are enchanted to go back to the household after they're empty, so you probably won't want to eat all of it in only a couple nights. It would raise suspicion."

Harry nods, "I understand." Not that he really understands. This was all just a bit confusing, but it seemed to rather be something that wasn't his business so he decided he shouldn't question any further. What he did understand, though, is that if Draco's friends had been ordered not to eat any of the gifts, then that would probably apply to him as well.

* * *

Draco finishes off the last of the beef jerky and drinks some water out of his Slytherin water bottle, before he enters the tent to change. He never fully changes, as he keeps on his boxers and a tank top, but he feels that he should at least change into his quidditch uniform. If he didn't there'd be a chance to ruin he day-to-day clothes, and he wouldn't have enough time to go back to the dungeon and find a spare outfit before class. Especially considering that during school hours not only did they have to follow the colors of their house, but more often than not they were required to wear that black, long-sleeved robe with their house tie.

He takes a broom and heads outside, ready to make more and better goals than he did in his previous practice. It was a bit optimistic, since it would take a few sessions of throwing those quaffles to actually have those high-protein beef jerkies take effect, but he has to at least try.

As expected, he does very well on the first few goals, but his ability slowly starts to decline after those. To compensate, he moves closer to the goals, so his strength won't matter as much as his accuracy does. This goes on for a while, until he checks the time and realizes he's a few minutes behind schedule. He dives down to the ground to get off the broom faster, and then he hurries to change back into his school uniform.

By the time he gets to Charms he's a few minutes late, even though he attempted to run part of the way there and was now out of breath. "Awe. Nice to be greeted with your presence, Mr. Malfoy. Why don't you take a seat?" He starts his way over towards a seat his friends had apparently saved for him. "We were just beginning to practice locking and unlocking spells."

Draco looks at Harry just in time to hear him mutter, "Alohomora." and unlock the old key paddle lock each student had been given. Draco tries it for himself, but it doesn't work. "For this one you can't just point. The wand movement is more like a snake." He does the movement, and Draco nods before trying again.

This time it works and he smirks, "Thank you."

"No problem."

The rest of the class went just as easily, as they realized there were actually different spells for unlocking different kinds of locks. For instance, a lock that would have been used for Harry's old gym locker would be one spell, while a lock on a door would be another. Each of them did rather well, well enough to even include some mindless chat while waiting for the other students to accomplish each task.


	21. Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff

"Come on, Draco. There's finally a match. Cheer up a little."

"I don't see why we have to be here," he mumbles back to Harry. "It's not like we're actually competing this game."

"The captain made it required," Harry reminds him.

"I'm well aware of that, Potter. That's the only reason I'm even here."

Harry smiles, "What? I'm not enough for you anymore?" Draco's frown is still apparent, and he slumps forward even more. Harry's smile disappears, "That was supposed to be a joke."

Draco shakes his head, "Sorry. I'm just a little unsure about spending one to three hours doing just about nothing." He looks over at Harry with assurance, "I just wish I could be doing something more productive."

Harry finds his eyes on another set of bleachers, "Well, you could have done what Hermione did and have brought a book."

Draco looks over to where Harry is looking and notices the Granger girl with what appears to be a copy of their Charms textbook, "Right. If I was actually smart I could have just done that."

"Draco." Goyle pauses only for a moment, "You're smart enough."

"Says someone who still hasn't managed to get any of their grades past Acceptable."

Harry responds, "But he's right. You're plenty smart. You just have to see that."

Draco mumbles, "If I were smart I'd have figured out a way to get my father's approval by now."

Harry shakes his head, "You don't need his approval. You have our approval."

Draco gives a quick glance, "Are you sure about that?" before his eyes move past Crabbe and Goyle on their way back to the field. Harry says something, but he's not paying enough attention to know what it was. He just observes the game, like the captain had told them to. He supposed it was to find weaknesses or to learn their techniques, but even so he found himself wishing to be doing something else or to at least be out there competing as well.

He shakes his head. _No. I'm not nearly ready enough to compete. I still need to become strong enough to throw from distances without tiring quickly._ He looks back at the game. Every Chaser on the Hufflepuff team was a girl, and all but one were also girls on the Ravenclaw team. The one Chaser who happened to be a boy was tall and very slender.

The announcer comments, "Roger Davies has the quaffle. He's diving below the competition, swooping back up, and he scores! Another ten points to Ravenclaw."

 _So, that's his name._ Draco looks over the boy of dark-brown hair and eyes again. Aside from that the only real difference Draco can see is that he's a bit taller, and looking more carefully he can see that the Chaser also has just a little more muscle than he does. "I bet he wasn't placed with the girls during tryouts," he grumbles.

"Sorry. What did you say," asks Harry.

Draco looks over at him but doesn't speak for a moment. _Did I say that out-loud?_ "I was just noticing how good that one Chaser is. He'd make a worthy adversary."

Harry comments, "Look who's embracing their vocabulary."

Draco slightly smiles. _Maybe I'm a little smart after all._ He looks back to the field, but by the time he does the game's already over.

"The snitch has been caught," the announcer informs loudly. "The game has been won with a hundred and fifty points going to Ravenclaw."

"That's it," asks Draco.

Crabbe comments, "It's not really a surprise, is it? I mean, it is just a school sport. This isn't the professionals, where games can last hours to weeks at a time. Anyway, it's been forty-five minutes. Pretty close to your estimate."

 _It's already been forty-five minutes?_ "I'm going back to the dorm to fit an hour or two of studying in, before it's time for practice." He looks over at Harry, "Would you like to join me?"

Harry shrugs, "Sure. Why not?"


	22. Ravenclaw vs Slytherin

Almost two weeks later following detention Draco and Harry head to dinner. It starts out relatively quiet, both of them still tired from deep cleaning every single cauldron the class had, but it begins to pick up as Crabbe mentions the first upcoming game. "Ah. Right," says Harry. "We have practice starting during the second part of lunch tomorrow, don't we?"

Draco moves some pasta around with his fork, "Uh, yeah. We do."

Harry just barely hears the mumbles, "What is it?" Draco doesn't respond, clearly in his thoughts. "Is your father not coming? Is that it," asks Harry.

"No. He's coming," responds Draco, now poking his fork at the slices of turkey.

"You don't seem very pleased."

Draco shrugs, "Since that letter the other Thursday, he hasn't sent any more or any packages." He pauses for a moment. "I guess it's just got me a bit restless, thinking what he could possibly need to say in person that he's decided to stop writing for."

Goyle smiles and attempts to joke, "Maybe he just wants you to be restless, so that when he comes he can give you a bunch of packages and see you panic as you open each one."

Draco gives a look, "That's not funny. It's terrible."

Crabbe comments, "Don't worry. You know him. He's a busy person. Probably just working too much to find enough time to think of anything to send."

"Or he could have just realized you still haven't finished those other treats yet," suggests Harry.

Draco slowly nods, "I suppose, but that doesn't explain why he would stop sending letters. After all, he's been trying to keep me informed on what's happening with each of the pureblood families and their hosted events."

"You have events," asks Harry.

"Yeah. Sometimes it's like a charity auction; other times it's to celebrate the accomplishments of someone, but what never changes are the people. It's mandatory for all adults, and when there's no school the children are also expected to show. We have to wear our best attire, be on our best behavior—" He pauses, shaking his head. "It's very important not to make a scene and ruin the night, but if you don't speak up in the right places or don't acknowledge someone who's trying to say something to you then that's considered rude." He takes a sip of milk. "It's confusing really. I've gotten in trouble before just because there's so many people and it can be hard to know if they're really talking to you or not. If it turns out that they weren't talking to you and you answer them, then that's also considered rude." He stabs the turkey and a clank is heard, "It's something I could really live without."

Harry's eyebrows are raised as he finishes his stuffing, "I hope I never have to attend something like that."

Draco laughs, "Don't worry. You won't have to; only purebloods are allowed to such events." He huffs, "Those blasted, blood-traitor Weasleys haven't shown up for generations."

"Oh. So, is that why you thought I shouldn't be friends with Ron? Your family considers him disloyal or untrustworthy or something?"

"That about sums it up. Yeah."

Goyle interrupts, "Draco. Dinner's almost over. Don't you think you should eat something before the meal disappears?"

Draco looks down at his plate and mutters, "Oh. Right," before he begins to chew on his turkey. The conversation begins to slow down again, and a few minutes later the meal disappears by which time Draco had finished off half of his turkey.

* * *

Sure enough, the following day Draco notices his father sit in the bleachers just in time to judge his quidditch skills, as he heads to the field with the rest of the team. Harry sees this too and briefly touches Draco's shoulder, "Good luck." before they all move into position to start the game. The game's against Ravenclaw and that one Chaser Draco couldn't help but compare himself to. He's gained a little more muscle since the last time he saw him, but he still found himself jealous by the effortless technique he seemed to have bestowed in the last game.

When the game starts Harry looks for the snitch, but the bright sun and cold wind makes it hard for him to concentrate. _Just choose. Do you want it to be warm and bright, or do you want it to be cold and dark._ The small clouds weren't a help either, as he would adjust to the brightness one moment and then have to readjust to the dark the next, but the sky seems to be changing on a whim and Harry's sight finds itself even more useless than usual. He did have goggles on to protect his eyes from the wind, which as a required item for the fast-flying Chasers and Seeker, but he hadn't figured out how to maneuver them right over his glasses. It just leaves him feeling the temple and temple tips of the glasses crush into the side of his head, and one of the nose pads can be felt poking near his tear duct.

At first Draco's teammates are reluctant to give him the ball, but soon enough he gets the chance to prove them wrong. He manages to fly his broom perfectly, using one of the moves they had to practice during drills, and throws the quaffle. It had been a longer shot, but it does score them ten points. Draco begins to feel good about himself, but when he sees his father again a frown and tentative look can be seen. _I was foolish to think I could ever make him proud._ He shakes the thought away and continues to help the team, and he even manages to score three more goals in the process. He looks around to see if Harry's found the snitch to end the game, but the Seeker is nowhere to be seen, and so he focuses back on the competition. They have the ball, and Draco needs to make himself available to catch it if the opportunity presents itself.

Harry had been following the snitch under the bleachers, but the Ravenclaw Seeker was right behind him. There are a lot of boards they have to get past, and the constant obstacle course makes it so the snitch is even farther ahead than when they had found it. It doesn't matter though, as they are soon out of there and back into the sky.

Draco catches the ball and flies toward the opponents' goal post as fast as he can. It's cold, and he can feel his arms become stiff, but he needs to make this shot. He has to make all of the shots he attempts. He throws it with as much strength as he has, which isn't much with how much he had used on previous shots. It misses, just barely, and the Keeper seems to laugh, has he didn't even have to try to defend the hoops this time.

"The snitch is caught and one hundred and fifty points goes to Ravenclaw!"

Harry stays still as he takes his glasses off. They had begun to fog up a while ago, but now it has become too much. He wipes the moistness away, a frown on his face as he questions if his impaired sight had just cost them the game. He didn't think it had, but the snitch was so small and fast that this last time he had to follow the other Seeker just to find it. _I'm pathetic._ He lands onto the ground, and he and Malfoy give each other sorrowful glances

The captain disrupts the moment, as he marches up to Harry, "What happened?"

Harry shrugs a little, his mouth open but unable to really find any words, "I thought I was doing alright, but my glasses were a little foggy at the end of the game if that could have affected anything."

"Of course it affected things." Flint takes Harry's glasses and looks them over, "They do make prescription goggles, but let's just make this easier for everyone." He snaps the glasses in two, throws them onto the ground, and stomps on them.

"Hey," Harry shouts. "That was my only pair."

The captain responds in sneering anger, "You're too young for glasses." and grabs tightly onto his arm. "Come with me."

Not that Harry has any choice, as he feels the captain's grasp is enough to leave a bruise, so he follows behind him as he's led to the hospital wing. "Ah. Mr. Flint. Are you back for more eye solution?"

"No. I don't know what you added to that last potion, but think my current vial will last a while." He nods his head over to Harry, "Potter, here, lost us the game, because his glasses were fogging up. Do you think you can help us?"

Madam Pomfrey nods, "We'll need to do an examination, but I don't see why it shouldn't work." She smiles at Harry, "Why don't you take a seat so I can examine your eyes?" Harry slowly walks over, just a little nervous and confused, before he sits on the edge of the hospital bed. As she checks his eyes with a few different tools, she explains, "Flint found a potion in his second year and decided to test it out, but when it only had very short-term effects he came to ask me what he had been doing wrong. When I checked his eyes it turned out he was one of the unlucky ones. If he uses the stronger potion I made, then he should be able to keep good sight until his mid-twenties, but anything of less strength won't work on him. Not properly, anyway."

"Is there anything wrong with my eyes," asks Harry, realizing just a bit too late that if there wasn't anything wrong with them, then he wouldn't even be here. He remembers it was only after his grades fell and the school instructed the Dursleys to do so that they finally took him to the eye doctor. They couldn't seem to do anything but complain about the cost of the glasses for the following months, and they even guilted him into doing even more chores like scrubbing the bathroom clean and mucking out the gutter.

"They could be worse," she comments, but the stress in her voice makes Harry realize he isn't one of the lucky ones. "I'll start you off with a less strengthy solution, but towards the end of your years at Hogwarts I'll have to switch you to a stronger potion. I'm afraid to say that this may only work for you up until your early thirties."

"It's fine," Harry mumbles. "I probably won't survive that long anyway."

The shock on the healer's face is apparent, "Dear, what makes you say that."

Harry tries to think of the why, but aside of his near-death experience as a baby and his mistreatment by the Dursleys he can't really think of a good reason. He half-shrugs, "It's just a feeling." He wets the inside of his lips, "Like something bad is going to happen."

She looks more relieved now, "Nonsense. It's just first-year jitters. I had them myself for the longest time. I just knew it would be impossible for me to finish my education, what with the war and everything back then, but I pulled through anyway. If a lady like myself can finish schooling during a time of war, then a young boy like you can finish yours during this time of peace." Harry doesn't argue with her, even though this doesn't make him feel much better.


	23. Valuable

Lucius Malfoy had walked with his son to chat privately. It was only a more secluded hall, but he was careful enough to charm the area so no onlookers would be able to hear them, "It's good to see you Draco."

Draco nods with a frown, "It's nice to see you too."

There's a pause before his father comments, "So, a Chaser. If I'm remembering correct, that's traditionally a position reserved for females, is it not?"

"It is," Draco hesitates. "But the Slytherins don't like girls on the team. I heard a couple of them mention during practice about them being distractions or something." He shakes his head, "I didn't understand. It didn't make any sense."

"Ah. No," mutters Mr. Malfoy in acknowledgement. "It makes perfect sense." He laughs, "Well, that explains it. There's no way my son could have been a Chaser otherwise."

Draco purposely neglects to tell him that he had been grouped with the girls, as they all apparently had the best body type for a Chaser. "Would it be that hard to believe?" His father gives a look of suspicion, and Draco looks away for a moment, "I just mean, I'm kind of short for a boy and I am a bit thin. I actually have almost no muscle, so it's not like I could have gotten the Beater or Keeper position." He looks back, "In fact, had I not been a Chaser I probably wouldn't have even made the team."

His father seems speechless for a moment, but then he manages a smile, "Nonsense. You're not that thin, not anymore, and you may lack muscle, but I dare say we may still make a Beater out of you yet."

Draco comments, "I am the Seeker's alternate."

"Even better." He touches Draco's shoulders and smirks with evil intention, "Now, tell me. That boy, that Seeker: that was Harry Potter wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"He's a little too famous for my liking." His smirk broadens, "How about we make you the Seeker? Oh, I can see it now."

Draco interrupts, "That's a lot of responsibility."

"Exactly. It's exactly what you need for people to respect and notice you more." He pauses and gives a look, as if he's just seen a flaw. He places a hand on his son's chin, forcing his head to move in one direction and then the other, "You look a bit pale."

"The dungeons will do that to you."

"Well, yes, and I remember it well, but you've only been here for so long." He gives an accusing look, "You haven't been skipping meals, have you?"

"No."

"Not even breakfast?"

Draco smiles, but it's a more nervous one that only lifts up half way to show a small bit of his teeth, "I go down there every morning."

"Hmm, but still." He pauses. "Maybe you're right. A Seeker is a huge responsibility, and we don't need any more accidents. It can wait 'til next year."

Draco's smile falters in surprise, "Thank you."

"Yes. Well," Mr. Malfoy stands up straighter. "I'll be sure to send you some warmer clothes as well. I do remember that the dungeon gets cold, but I would like you outside more. Our family already has pale skin. We don't need to be mistaken for ghosts."

It was an exaggeration, obviously, as ghosts are transparent, but Draco nods a smile, "I'll make sure to do that." He knows it won't work, as he's already been training outside for at least a couple hours each day, but he wasn't in the mood for another lecture on health. "By the way, Harry is kind of a friend now."

"Oh. Is he," questions Lucius. "Well, I can only assume then that he's of good moral character?"

Draco thinks back on the conversations he's had with Harry, remembering that although he seemed to understand his family's position on blood purity, he clearly didn't believe in it or stand for it himself. There's no way Draco could tell his father this, though, so he just settles with, "He has a lot to learn."

His father nods, "Yes. Well, I suppose that's to be expected. Last I heard he was living with muggles. He may very well be a sympathizer."

It takes a moment for Draco to inform, "His family has actually been quite cruel to him: locking him up for doing accidental magic which they didn't even tell him he could do, starving him regularly—" He pauses only for a moment, "They were just horrible people, and yet he says that not all muggles are that way. He's actually been making it a bad habit of speaking to Ron Weasley and this mudblood girl Granger."

Mr. Malfoy clicks his tongue in disappointment, "You were right. He has a lot to learn. Let's just hope he does before anyone gets hurt."

Draco speculates, "You wouldn't hurt him, would you?"

"Harry," asks his father. "No. Of course, not; he's much too valuable."

"How is he valuable?"

Lucius puts a hand on his son's shoulders, kneeling down as he does so, "You're a little young to be hearing this, but, you see, there are some who believe Harry will help bring back the old ways. Some people believe that he could be a spokesperson for the pureblood community, someone who could acknowledge the importance of this purity, creating a following unlike no other which would in turn purify the wizarding world and make us stronger once again."

Draco knows he's making a face, but he couldn't help it; this was just too ridiculous to be true. Harry was only a month or two older than he was after all, and with his behavior there's no way he'd ever be the spokesperson on blood purity. "Who would ever believe that?"

The father gives a long, disappointing breath, "More than you may think." as he stands up tall. "I should be going. Keep me updated on your schooling and this Harry Potter. I'll be sending you more letters and packages, but I must be leaving now." Before Draco knows it, his father has begun to walk away. He wasn't about to follow, as if it weren't for the school's precautions he would already be gone via apparition. No. He would stand there for a few minutes, think over the conversation a few times, and contemplate what any of this means.


	24. Mortal Flaws

\- **Trigger Warning** for anorexia and body dysmorphic disorders. In this chapter a character uses a measuring tape, and there is a slight description of their appearance. I know it's just a small thing, but everyone has their own triggers. You've been warned.

* * *

Harry wakes up and reaches instinctively for his glasses, but they aren't there. His eyes tiredly open as he remembers the vial of eye solution he had been given. He had been told he'd have to take a couple drops of it one to three times a week, whenever his vision would begin to blur again. Obviously it wasn't it an overnight thing, as vision fades over time, but this was one of those mornings where he couldn't read a poster on the other side of the room. He'd have to put a few drops in sometime during his morning routine.

He looks over and his eyes squint, unsure if what he's seeing could be real, "Draco?"

"Yes?"

Draco seemed to be fully dressed, now lying down towards the end of his bed. He was peering over a book, a quill in his hand. "What are you doing?"

"Homework. We have an essay due later this week, and I thought it would be a good idea to finish it early."

Harry half grunts, half growls, as it seems to be way too early for such an activity to be occurring. "You're starting to sound like Hermione."

"I'm nothing like that—"

"You better not say that word," Harry warns.

Draco takes a deep breath, "I was going to say school-obsessed Granger."

"Sure you were," comments Harry, as he looks through is drawers for a school uniform.

"Honestly, I was. I swear." Draco mumbles, "I know how much you hate me when I say it. I'm not about to say it right in front of you again, not after last time."

"How generous of you," Harry sarcastically responds, as he looks at his watch. "I'm going to take a shower, but we should leave for breakfast afterwards or we'll be late."

Draco just nods, looking up to see he's left, before he puts his materials away and takes two scrolls out from his drawer. One of them is just the schedule he had made. The other one includes a list of spells his found for brooms, figuring that would help him more for quidditch, and the other side of the parchment contains some measurements. He just had to know if he was making any progress, but he knows if anyone saw then they'd make a big deal out of it. He looks over to Crabbe and Goyal's beds, and the snoring indicates they are still asleep.

Draco takes a measuring tape from the drawer he keeps his clothes in, before he begins to measure. He soon realizes that the high-protein beef jerky has done him well, as he had earned an extra inch on his biceps since last week. He really hates having to wait so long to see the results, but measurements really can only be done on a weekly basis as you can't be sure if the subtle changes are accurate or not. If he had known the spell healers do which record your entire body measurements onto parchment, then he would probably do it every day, but that was a trick typically learned during a healer's occupational training.

He continues on to measure his stomach over the hips. This tends to be a more difficult measurement, as his bones would sometimes stick farther out than his fat or skin did. On this nothing has really changed; although it does fluctuate week to week, it's always temporary. One week the number would go up, and then the next it would go down. Although the inconsistency bothers him, it's something he's just learned to accept. The last thing he measures is his thighs. He knows he won't have much issue here, but he's seen some guys with large legs before and just wanted to make sure he wouldn't turn out as fat or disfigured as them. He looks back to Crabbe and Goyle's beds, remembering their appearance. They were strong, yes, but they were also a bit chubby, especially Crabbe. It disgusts him sometimes, not that he would ever tell them that. He looks back to the parchment, rechecking his own measurements, before he hears the shower turn off and quickly puts the scrolls away.

He begins to ready his bag just in time to hear Goyle's pocket watch go off. The alarm is nothing more than a very loud clicking, but by pocket watch standards it was the best. Draco pretends not to hear it, rechecking the area to make sure nothing incriminating is still out. He glimpses the tape measure and tucks it into the drawer just in time for Harry to return to the room. "You ready?"

Draco rechecks his bag, "Yeah. I am." before he glances back to his guards. They were only now getting out of bed. It would take them at least five minutes, but he supposed Harry and him were actually early. _Harry may have said we'd be late if we hadn't gone after his shower, but either his shower was shorter than usual or his definition of late varies depending on situations. Probably both._

Harry comments, "They can meet us down there."

Draco nods and walks forward, only to backtrack a few steps and take a long piece of jerky from a container in the top drawer. It turns out to be the last piece, and he watches as the container is transported somewhere else. _I've been averaging one container every or every other week. My mother should be proud… Who knows if my father is. He's probably just thinking it's about time for it to happen._

"Training again," asks Harry.

Draco returns from his thoughts, "Yeah. You know I have to check for packages first, though, but after that it would be nice to get some training in." He sees Harry's expression, "What is it?"

Harry shrugs, "Nothing, really. It's just that you practice every day, twice as much as anyone else on the team. I just wonder how you don't ever tire. It's like you must be immortal or something."

"He's far from immortal," Goyle responds loudly, as if his statement would have been ignored otherwise and was too important to be.

"Well, obviously he's mortal," Harry elaborates, a bit flustered. "I just meant that he works so hard, to the point where others wouldn't even consider."

Draco looks around, anywhere which didn't include a person. The truth was that although he's woken early due to the prospect of getting things accomplished, he often found that energy mostly drained of my the early afternoon. Goyle walks him to them both, "I think he works a little too hard." Draco finds his friend's voice gruff with irritation, but he should be thankful that they have enough respect for each other not to make a scene. Goyle squints his eyes at the item in Draco's hand and shakes his head, "You can't just live off of that stuff, you know. Why don't you eat those pastries or bread that you were given?"

Draco looks at Harry, really wishing he weren't here, before looking back at Goyle, licking his lips a bit before answering, "They're a bit rich."

Goyle's eyes squint even further as his eyebrows furrow, before he steps closer to Draco and whispers, "That's what you said last year, before that accident happened. We're not having any more problems now, are we?"

Draco shakes his head, attempting to smile so Harry doesn't realize anything is actually wrong. "No. I'm fine," he whispers. "I promise."

"Like your promises mean anything when you're having problems." He continues at a normal level of sound, so that Harry can hear again, "Well, I would really appreciate it if you spent some time with us. How about you skip training for a night and have dinner with us?"

Draco hesitates, thinking of their next game this Saturday, "I really shouldn't."

"You really should," Goyle prompts. "We all miss your company greatly, and one dinner isn't going to kill you, your grades, or your quidditch skills."

When Draco doesn't answer, Harry comments, "It would be nice to have you there." He looks to the floor for a moment, "Dinner has become rather quiet without you." before he peers back up.

Draco finds himself smiling, although he's not sure why. "Alright." He sees Harry smile, "Just for tonight. We have a game Saturday. I don't need to get sloppy."

Harry shrugs, "It will just be nice to have a fuller conversation again."


	25. Anemia

When they sit down to dinner Draco is overwhelmed by all the smells. They were all so strong he could taste every one, and each one makes him feel sicker than the one before. He sees Harry has already filled his plate, and looking around he sees Crabbe and Goyle have already done the same. Crabbe gives him a raised eyebrow, looking from Draco to the empty plate and then back to Draco. He has to pick something, before he's asked any questions.

"Aren't you going to eat," asks Harry.

Draco attempts to smile, "I'm just having a hard time choosing what I want the most." before he hurriedly glances around the table and settles on some mixed fruit and a pile of assorted nuts. He had purposely filled half of his plate with the fruit, since it seemed that would be the easiest thing to get down, but with the nuts only taking up a corner there was still space left. _Maybe I don't have to fill it. It's not like I ever did before._ He looks at each of his friends, hoping it was indeed enough, but clearly Goyle doesn't think it is. So, Draco continues to search the table and places a small, pink muffin on his tray. Cringing at it, it looks completely inedible, but he hopes the pink just means it will taste of strawberry.

Looking around, it seems he's gotten everyone's approval, so he begins by taking a fork to his fruit. He hears Harry take a breath of relief. "I'm so glad we don't have detention anymore." It's actually been a couple weeks now, but Draco too has had nightmares of it.

"Was it that bad," asks Crabbe.

Harry nods with wide eyes, "Yes. It was."

Draco elaborates, "We had to de-spider the dungeon, deep-clean the cauldrons, clean the blackboard, wipe the floor and ceiling, and organize his new ingredients to their proper place." He takes a drink of the lemonade, "It really was horrible."

Crabbe's eyebrows raise, "Remind me to never piss him off." Goyle smiles and nods in agreement. Draco doesn't respond, more focused on eating. It was illogical, he knows, but he just feels if he stops then he won't be able to convince himself to continue.

 _I'm not even hungry anyway. This is rubbish. I should be doing something productive._ He finishes the fruit and puts the fork down, "So, I should really ask, how is everyone else doing in class? I feel like I haven't asked in a while."

"You haven't," comments Goyle, clearly displeased.

Draco takes a big breath, but it's let go rather fast, "I'm sorry. I've been a little focused on not being an utter disappointment to my father. You know, he doesn't even like that I've made the team. No, it's just not good enough. Says his son would never have gotten a girl's position had the team actually let girls onto it. Says we may still make a Beater out of me yet. Said that being a Seeker was even better, only if we could make the position permanent. If he hadn't noticed any physical flaws, then Harry would have been demoted to something else and I would be left with the entire house riding on my shoulders." Had they been sitting anywhere else he would have looked around to see what attention could have been drawn from that outburst, but lucky for him they've changed seating towards the end of the table, so instead he just gives a stern look. "I'm sorry if I lost focus on things like on how my friends' grades are faring, especially when I know neither of you are allowed to fail either."

It's quiet for a minute, but soon enough Harry asks, "He wants you to be Seeker?"

Draco tries to take a stress-relieving breath, "Don't worry. I'm too pale to be a Seeker. He's decided to wait 'til next year."

Harry gives an absurd look, "Draco, your skin color isn't going to change."

Goyle comments, "It's not about his skin color." Harry looks at him, as he further explains, "You haven't known him long enough to see much of a difference, but there has been a slight change since he's arrived here. A slight change only someone who's known him longer would be able to pick up on so soon."

Harry shakes his head, "Hold on a moment. Why would that matter though? I mean, why would him being pale affect his father's idea to make him Seeker, unless—" He stops abruptly, looking at Draco with hesitant worry. "Are you ill?"

"Well," Goyle drags out.

Draco hits him on the shoulder, "Don't tell him."

"Don't tell me what?" Harry was beginning to worry. _I've spent two months taking classes and living with this person. How could I not know something so important?_ "Draco. Tell me. What is it?"

"Anemia."

It was hesitant, but short and clear. Harry has no idea what it even is, "What is that? How bad is it?"

Draco looks down at his plate for a moment, "It's not that bad. Symptoms just include pale skin, tiring easily, sensitivity to cold, dizziness, and difficulty with concentration or memory sometimes. That's about it."

Harry gives a look of disbelief and sternly responds, "Draco. That seems like a big deal."

"It's not. Really," he insists. "At the most, it's just really annoying."

It takes a moment for Harry to question, "If that's the case, then why are your friends worried? If that's the case, then why is your father so concerned?"

Draco huffs a laugh, "I imagine he's more concerned about the family's image than he actually is about me."

"But still." Harry pauses in contemplation, "Dizziness, tiring easily, difficulty concentrating. That sounds serious, even dangerous, especially on the field."

Draco gives a look, "You're not going to rat me out, are you?"

Harry shakes his head, "No. Of course, not."

"Good," Draco comments, before he stands from the table. "I'm going to get a head start on my Charms homework. Finish without me."

Harry watches as Draco leaves the hall, before he asks, "How serious is it?"

It takes a minute for Goyle to respond, "Sometimes it's not even an issue, but other times it can get really bad."

"How bad?"

When Goyle doesn't speak Crabbe informs, "Well, last year he fainted at a pureblood event." Harry doesn't speak. "Mr. Malfoy blamed it on a fever from some flu. Things like this… it can be seen as weakness. I'm sure Draco and his father would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone anything."

Harry slowly nods in understanding, "Don't worry. I'll try not to."


	26. Slytherin vs Hufflepuff

The teams line up on the field, and Draco turns around to see his father in the stands. That's not a shock at all; he'd be there just to witness whether or not he messes up, but what does surprise him is his mother. Her ice blue eyes sparkle bright in the sun, and her once golden blond hair, now more of a dark white, frames her smile. The smile itself is sweet, as it's directed at her son, but the corners reveal her proud and conniving nature.

Draco finds himself smile back, even if only slightly, before he looks back towards the field. Everyone was already moving into position, and he has to rush to catch up with them. In the sky, things start off easy with just a few snide comments from the others about how defeating the Hufflepuffs should be easy. Draco knows this isn't true. _Hufflepuffs are often stereotyped as weak with their easy-going nature, which, okay, maybe they do lack resourcefulness, intellect, and bravery, but they do pride themselves on hard work and loyalty. If nothing else, then surely those two things combined would at least make for a strong team._

"The quaffle's in the air, the snitch is released, and the game begins!"

This time around Draco's teammates seem to trust him a little more, and soon enough they've already scored their team fifty points. Hufflepuff has only managed thirty, but work ethic seems to grow more intense and formularized the farther behind they get. It's not predictable, not really. All it does is make them work better together, like some machine with a manual. "Draco!" Draco looks in the direction of the shout and finds himself catching the quaffle. Yes, it was dumb of his teammate to shout where the ball was going, but he was being even more of an idiot for losing concentration. Had they not shouted, then the quaffle may have as well just hit his face or bounced off his chest.

 _Come on. Get it together, Draco._ He flies across the field, but with multiple objects and people in his way he has two options: he could try to shoot from here or he could pass it to another player. _Well, I couldn't possibly shoot it from here. I wouldn't have enough strength, and besides that I would have to deal with that weird angle._ He looks over and around his obstacles, before he finally sees someone. He passes the ball to Marcus Flint, and suddenly the goal has been made. He would smile, proud of his decision, but suddenly he feels a bit light-headed. He finds the sun just a bit bright too, as the crowd's excitement has already given him a headache. He shuts his eyes tightly and pinches the bridge of his nose, hoping that when he opened them everything would just stop.

"Draco. Are you okay?" It was Harry.

Draco opens his eyes wide, his mouth left agape, before he shouts, "What are you doing? Go catch that snitch." Harry seems bothered by this for a moment, as if questioning whether to do his part for the team, but after his moment of insanity passes he flies off to find the most important ball of the game. Draco shakes his head in disapproval and mutters in annoyance, "No, no. I don't have to catch the ball that decides whether or not we lose the game. I'm much too worried about you to do that." He spats, "Frickin' amateur." Realizing he must have stayed in the same spot for more than just a few minutes, Draco shakes his head and attempts a relaxing breath before going off after the quaffle again.

Thirty minutes later the points of Slytheirn and Hufflepuff are nearly tied, and the noise from the crowd increases at the prospect of the snitch being caught. Harry was just behind it, the Hufflepuff seeming to have a hard time even balancing on his broom. Harry looks back only for a second, thinking that the boy must have sustained an injury to the leg. He turns back and criticizes himself for having looked away, as it seems the snitch had taken that opportunity to go hide somewhere. The announcer shouts, "Yes. The simplest distraction can be the difference between winning or losing a game. Who will find it first? Can the Slytherins prove that their last game was only a fluke, or will the Hufflepuffs make a name for themselves?"

Another ten minutes later Harry finds the snitch, and this time he's determined to not even blink. He does, of course, blink, but his eyes remain on the ball the entire time. He wishes the broom were faster, as the snitch seems to be much quicker. He'd have to think of a way to cut it off, since following it was clearly getting him nowhere.

Meanwhile, Slytherin has one hundred and twenty points, heading the Hufflepuffs by a twenty point lead. Or at least they were, as now the Hufflepuffs have just scored themselves another ten points. Moments later, the Slytherin team catches the ball and Draco finds it being thrown to him. He's unable to move for a moment, everything seeming to just be happening too fast, but when he does fly off it's at the fastest speed. He had managed to charm the broom in three ways. First, it was now steadier and wouldn't skew to the left. Second, it would now take a more accurate course in direction. Lastly, if he fell for some reason, the broom would find him in attempt to get him back on.

Diving under players, coming in from the right, Draco throws the quaffle as hard has he can. "Another ten points to Slytherin!" A lot of cheers and boos echo from the crowd, and the announcer continues in an even louder voice, "The snitch is caught and Slytherin wins."

Draco lowers himself to the ground, sees Potter, and marches right up to him, "What the bloody hell was that?" He looks around, realizing that members of the team had come over to congratulate and high-five the Seeker, probably with a few teases about the last game's loss.

Harry gives an awkward look, "Yes. Thank you. I'm just going to…" He points to behind him, beginning to walk away as Draco follows. After looking around again to make sure they were alone, Harry asks, "What's this about?"

"You know very well what this is about," Draco snarls. "The whole not going after the snitch, just because you wanted to see if I was okay."

"Well," Harry slowly defends himself. "You didn't exactly look well, what with the hand to the head and not going anywhere." He sees Draco look to the ground, a little irritated. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Draco speeds his head back up, "That's the problem. You need to stop asking if I'm okay. You can't just neglect the most important position on the team, just because I may have a headache or feel light-headed. You can't be so concerned every time I decide to practice for quidditch or when I decide to wake up early for extra studying. Not only does it affect our house when we're on the field, but you look at me like I'm broken and people are noticing. If that weren't enough, I would swear that you almost want me to fail with you worrying about how much I study and practice."

Harry is quiet for a second, "People are noticing I'm worried?"

Draco half-laughs, "What, you never hear people snickering behind our backs?" Harry shakes his head, and Draco sternly comments, "You need to stop worrying so much. I already get letters from my parents twice a week and have two guards follow me almost wherever I go. I don't need you worrying about everything I do too."

Harry's eyes shift, "I can't just stop worrying. You're my friend."

Draco takes a deep breath and a step forward, "And as my friend you need to realize that I've been dealing with this much longer than anyone realizes. I know what to do if something is wrong. If I'm on a broom and begin to feel dizzy, then I stop moving. I'm not in any real danger." He takes a sad breath, "And all I want is to live my life without constant evaluation, to be able to do well in everything I'm expected to do well in without being told I'm overdoing things." It takes him a moment to admit, "I never wanted you to know about this. The last thing I wanted was for someone as great as you to see me as weak."

Harry shakes his head, "Draco. You're not weak. You're human."

"Exactly, which is why I'd like to be treated like one. I'm sure you don't ask your other friends how they are twelve times a day." He looks to the ground for a moment, "I realize things can get a little bad at times, but you need to reserve your asking for when you know I may not be doing well and not when you just think I may not be."

"How am I supposed to know the difference?"

He shrugs, "I guess it just depends on how well I'm handling things. If I'm not moving during a practice or game, then I'm handling it. If my broom is wobbling as I'm not moving, then there may be an issue." Harry doesn't respond, and Draco looks around to make sure people aren't listening in, "Look. You don't see Crabbe and Goyle asking if I'm okay ten times a day, so that should make you feel better about asking it just as less."

Harry nods, but it takes him a moment to speak, "I guess I just worry, because you're my friend and this seems serious. I know you're comparing how often I ask you if you're okay compared to like Hermione, but if she told me she had a similar problem then I'd be asking her just as much as I am you."

Draco looks to the ground for a moment, "I'd just really appreciate it if you stopped asking so often. I may have this problem, but I'm not so fragile as to completely break. I'll be fine. You have to trust me on this."

It takes a long minute for Harry to reply, "Then, I guess, I'll just have to try."

Draco almost smiles, "Thank you."

Harry looks from the ground and back to his friend, "It's not a problem. Just promise me that if you ever do feel unwell, more than you can handle or more than typical, then you will reach out to us. It may not seem like it, but we're here for you."

There's a pause, "I trust you enough to tell you if things get out of control, but as Crabbe and Goyle are reporting to my father I'd rather keep such things between us."

Harry nods thoughtfully, "Okay. Alright then."

Draco gives a nod of respect, as if doing so makes this a confirmed deal, "Alright."


	27. The Community

Draco and his parents sit in a secluded classroom. Actually, it wasn't really a classroom; no teacher used it and it looks more like a storage space, but the desks and blackboard remain. He looks through the glass of the closed door. His parents always liked their privacy and he couldn't blame them, but he sometimes wonders what other people think of this behavior. He looks back when his mother tucks a loose hair behind his ear, "I'm so proud of you, Draco."

Her voice is sweet, but it was a little too sweet to the point where it almost sounds sad. "Why are you proud?"

Her smile cracks, "It's just, you've come so far. To think, you've been here alone and you've still managed to stay so strong. It's more than I could have hoped."

Draco continues to frown, knowing that he wasn't as strong as she thought he was. The idea makes him sad, that he's finally gotten a compliment but that it's from something he knows he's not doing very good at. His father comments, "Now, don't be too quick, Narcissa. With his performance on the field and his appearance now, I'm not entirely sure if he's really been that strong. After all, not all of the containers have made it back to the house yet."

"Ah, yes. I do remember that." She looks at Draco, a slight worry creeping up in her expression, "What's wrong? Did you not like them?"

"It's not that," he murmurs. "The beef jerky is obviously fine, but some of the other things are just, well… a bit rich."

"Oh, Draco." His father places a hand to his head, as if what his son had just said was the most stressful thing in the world. "I thought we were past that."

Narcissa places a hand on her husband's shoulder, "Now, don't make him feel bad, Lucius. We knew this could happen. The important thing is that we provide him with snacks we know he can eat."

Lucius's eyes are hidden underneath the shadow of his hand, "He can't survive on nuts and dried fruit alone, and I think it would be exceedingly hard to send health shakes by owl, don't you?"

"It's not that bad," Draco insists. "It's just that sometimes my taste buds can get a little sensitive to things."

"Oh. I know, dear." She takes his hand, "It's just—" She stops abruptly, taking her other hand to his as well. "You're freezing."

At the sudden glare from his father, Draco responds, "I just spent half of the day flying outside." but he stares at his cupped hand as he does so. "As you know, it gets colder the faster you fly, and it is autumn."

"You should have worn gloves, Draco."

His father's voice was filled with nothing but disappointment, "I'm sorry, Father. It's just—"

"No one else was wearing gloves yet, so you thought you didn't need to either. Yes. I'm aware, but you're not just anyone, are you?"

Draco bends his head down even lower, "No, Father. Sorry, Father."

His mother lifts his head back up, "You can wear gloves next time. I'm afraid I need to address something quick, before we're left with minimal time and it's forgotten."

"What is it?" asks Draco.

"So, I hear you are friends with Harry Potter."

"Well, yeah. Sort of." He gives a questioning look, "He's 'the boy who lived'. I thought you would make an exception, perhaps even approve."

"And we have," she reassures. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't spending all your time with such inferior—" She cuts off her sentence, as if it's too vile to even continue it. "It's just that you could do so much better than those simple half-bloods."

"You have nothing to worry about, Mother. Most of my company is still pureblood, and I haven't stooped as low as to associate with any mudbloods. Just the way you like it."

She smiles, "It's not just the way I like it. It's better for everyone this way. You're well aware that the pureblood community is what will get you ahead in life. They will make it incredibly easy to find you an amazing career when you're older, so long as you have proved yourself worthy by then. If you get into any trouble at all, they will be there for you when everyone else has turned their backs on you. You need them to know you take the community seriously. You can't risk being labeled a blood-traitor just because you got close to the inferior."

Draco comments, "There are some families, though; ones that do associate with the inferior, and they haven't been labeled traitors."

"Oh. Yes," his mother sadly smiles, like he was just a boy who knew too little and was way too innocent. "But look at where it's gotten them. The Bulstrodes, that poor girl is going to have to spend her entire childhood proving that she's good enough to marry back into the line, and even then that's very unlikely to happen with all the children being paired already."

Draco gives an unsure look, "But there are relatives out of country. She could marry one of them, couldn't she?"

Narcissa laughs, "Oh, Draco. With many of the family lines having ended, it's more important now than ever to make sure purebloods only marry purebloods. No one would take her with her half-blood status, even more so since her family's line has just been infested with squibs. No one would ever risk marrying her."

Draco takes a moment to respond, "Do you think it will work?"

"If what will work?"

He hesitates, "Well, we are the first generation, aren't we? I mean, children weren't paired off so early before."

His father comments, "It will work a lot better than doing nothing. We can't have any more people marrying those with lower statuses or those who have betrayed the community." He shakes his head, as if remembering something horrible. "In the last war so many people either died or were sent to Azkaban. It left us with so few children for your generation."

Narcissa informs, "Of course, when you're older you will be allowed to date."

"So long as they are pureblood," the father inserts.

"Yes," replies the mother. "So long as the witch is of pureblood status, you may date her. You need to know, though, that there is only so much room for change. We need to marry everyone off, so unless you switch fiancées with someone else, you will be expected to marry Miss Astoria Greengrass."

"Oh." Lucius turns to his wife, "And might I just say what a splendid family they are. So prosperous, and the ladies always turn out so beautiful and intuitive." He smiles at Draco, "You may have the best deal out of everyone."

Narcissa smiles, "I couldn't agree more."

Draco can't help but show a lack of excitement. So far, all Astoria had managed to do was just annoy him. She always had these ideas, wedding ideas, and they weren't even teens yet. Crabbe had told him this seemed typical for girls, and he heard a few others complain as well. _Supposedly, it was just a more realistic way to play house, whatever that is_. He tries to smile for his parents, "I hope she turns out as well as you say."

"Oh, Draco. She absolutely will. There's no need to fret."

His father's words don't make him feel any better, but if he really got the best deal out of this, then there's no reason why he shouldn't just be proud of what he has.

* * *

\- Thank you to everyone who's made it this far and to those who have been patient with my grammar and especially spelling. I will admit my reading speed is garbage, so I have only read the Harry Potter series once and to review I only listened to the first book (I'm currently listening to the second. I'm won't start the third until after this fic is done). I do have a PDF that I use for chapters that require exact quotes, but even though I used it to spell Quirrell's name, it's either that I read it wrong or it was spelled wrong. So, I apologize if there's any misspellings for names, or if my grammar is obviously off on specific things. I will say it seems really redundant to have a question mark when you have the word "asks" right after the quotation; however, I did look it up and it turns out to be correct, so I'll try to remember that from now on. I, however, will not do it with exclamation marks, as if those are used too much it can either be distracting or the impact of it can get lost. With the names I was able to use the find and change to toolbar, but as far as grammar goes, that will only be able to be fixed once I reread the chapters. This will not happen until either I've finished the entire fanfiction or until I need to reread a specific chapter for information. Thank you to those who have pointed out spelling/grammar errors so they could be fixed or not happen from this point forward. I also appreciate that for the most part when people have pointed out spelling/grammar mistakes that they've been relatively nice about it. Thank you. I hope you're enjoying the story, even if it may not be quite what you initially thought it would be like.


	28. Names

Harry looks around after a minute of staring at the entrance to the Great Hall, "Where's Draco?"

Crabbe shrugs as Goyle comments, "He had a long talk with his parents after the quidditch match, but I haven't seen him since."

Crabbe suggests, "Maybe they're taking him out for dinner."

"I suppose," Goyle hesitates. "But you need permission to take a student out of school, and it seems rather short notice."

"Right."

They both grow quiet, so Harry attempts to make conversation, "So, Goyle, are you fairing any better in Charms, or are you still having a hard time?"

He shifts his head side-to-side, as if playing meeny miny moe, "I guess I'm doing a little better." He scoops up some noodles to his mouth, and with that the conversation ends.

 _Wow. I didn't think it could get any shorter._ Harry eats some of his marshmallow fruit salad, before filling his glass with milk.

"I have a question," Crabbe comments, and Harry looks up to confirm he's ready for it. "Why is it that you call Draco by his first name, but you don't call us by ours?"

"Oh. I'm sorry," responds Harry. "I thought those were your first names. I mean, that's what Draco calls you by."

Goyle nods, "He calls us by our last names, because that's how we knew each other for the longest time. The pureblood events are really formal, you know, and even though we call Draco by his first name now, I get the idea that maybe he just thought it would be easier to continue saying our last names."

"Or," Crabbe suggests. "Maybe he doesn't feel like he deserves to call us by our first names."

"Why wouldn't he deserve to?" asks Harry.

Goyle takes a second to answer, and when he does it's slow and careful, as if he's afraid to say something wrong that could be misinterpreted, "It's not that he doesn't deserve it. He may just feel like he doesn't. I'm sure you've noticed that he doesn't feel he's measured up to expectations, and his self-esteem is a bit low as result." He pauses, "He's told me that sometimes he feels like people see him as narcissistic or arrogant and that they seem to feel the need to lower him down a peg because of it, when really he sometimes feels like he couldn't get much lower." His eyes move down to the table, "It really doesn't help matters."

"Maybe people wouldn't think him to be so arrogant, if he would stop showing off in classes or bragging about his achievements to everyone."

The judgement in is voice was obvious, so Crabbe speaks up, "He's not trying to brag or show off. He only wants approval and to know that he's done something right."

Harry gives a look, "This is Draco we're talking about. He does just about everything right. He doesn't allow himself to fail at anything." He shrugs, "Except, maybe, being nice to those he sees as lower than him, which might be another reason people see him as arrogant by the way."

Goyle almost looks sad, "It doesn't matter how good he is at things. He could do absolutely perfect in everything and he still wouldn't feel good enough, not if people weren't telling him how good he is. As far as the whole being mean to other people, he may just be trying to show loyalty to the pureblood community. They do a lot for us. How loyal we are decides whether we get the best school and career or the worst."

Harry's quiet for a moment, feeling just a bit guilty for saying what he had, "So, your first names are?"

Goyle doesn't seem very pleased with the sudden drop of conversation, although Harry imagines that's just how a good friend would react when their friend had just been criticized. Crabbe answers, "I'm Vincent. He's Gregory."

Goyal responds, "I prefer Greg actually."

Harry nods, "Vincent. Greg. How was your day?" as if by saying this he could restart the entire conversation and have his disapproval of Draco be forgotten.


	29. Twenty Questions

When Harry walks into the dorm he sees Draco laying down on his back, "What are you doing?"

"Just drawing on the sides of the journal pages. They seemed a little bland."

Harry sits down on his own bed, "What are you drawing?"

"Not much, really. Just some leaves, vines, and swirls. Maybe a flower here and there or some thorns. I can't actually do much, though, since all I have is ink."

Harry nods and he's quiet for a moment, lying down as well before saying anything else, "I didn't see you at dinner."

Draco shrugs, "I wasn't very hungry."

Harry looks over, "Did the conversation with your parents not go well?" Draco shakes his head, his focused expression adding more of a frown, but he doesn't respond beyond that. Harry looks up at the metal cages that hold the green lights, and he continues to watch the lanterns as they quietly creak, slightly swaying from side to side. "We still haven't discussed the simple things you wanted to before, like favorite colors and stuff."

"No. We haven't."

"So," Harry uses the pillows from his bed to hoist himself up. "How about a game of twenty questions?"

Draco gives a questioning look, "Like what, asking each other questions, or is this one of those stupid games where I need to guess what you're thinking?"

"Well, typically, it is played the second way, but I just thought we could get to know each other better. We each have twenty questions. You can start."

Draco continues to draw in the journal, "You're assuming I have questions for you."

"What? Do you not want to play?" Harry asks, just a bit annoyed.

It takes a moment for him to respond, "You said I could go first." He looks at Harry, "Those muggles treated you horribly. Why did you even bother to stay there?"

Harry shrugs, flustered. The truth was he wasn't completely sure why he hadn't run off, even if he had been told countless times that he would die on the streets. "I'm not sure. I guess I just had nowhere to go, and to be honest they made it a habit of making me feel guilty. They were constantly telling me how nice they were to even bother taking me in." Harry stares at the green and silver of his bedding. "For a while I really believed that what they were giving was nice enough and all that I deserved. I only realized how wrong I was when this adopted girl in my class had nice things and was treated just as fairly as her non-adopted brothers." Draco nods, and Harry has to think for a minute before inquiring, "If you don't mind me asking, when did you get it? The aninima."

"The anemia," Draco corrects. His drawing slows as his frown grows sad, "My parents have only known about it for almost a year, but the symptoms have been there for at least half a year longer than that."

Harry nods but sees how hard the topic is for Draco. _I shouldn't have asked._ Not wanting to push him to elaborate, he comments, "Okay. It's your turn."

Draco slightly smiles, thankful that after the big explanation that Harry had given him that his simple answer was seen fit enough. "Did you ever have any good times, or was it always horrible there?"

"When I would get locked in my cupboard, I would read a lot. It was nice, peaceful almost." He slightly rolls his eyes, "I didn't like the lack of access to the bathroom, but it wasn't as bad of a punishment as they thought it was."

"So, they gave you books then?"

Harry smiles, "Is that your third question?"

"Yes. It is."

Harry shakes his head, "They never gave me books. The first book I got was just a chapter book that came through the mail. Dudley didn't want it, threw it in the trash, but I secretly saved it. Other than that I could check out books from the school library. The Dursleys didn't give me enough time to return a couple on my last day before summer, so I kept them."

Draco nods, "I guess it's your turn."

Harry thinks for a minute, "Two questions. Any spell, real or fake, what would you want to learn, and how would you use it?"

Draco almost answers immediately, his mouth open to speak, but when he looks to see if anyone's listening he finds Crabbe's eyes on them. He pulls the curtain on that side of his four-poster bed shut, before turning back to Harry to whisper, "There's this spell that healers know. It lists the measurements of someone's body, along with their weight and how much muscle and fat they have. I imagine it would be pretty useful for quidditch players. You know, so we could see how much muscle or weight we've either lost or gained."

"Why would that even matter?" Harry questions.

The look on his face was one of absurdity, and Draco looks down for a minute as he criticizes himself for saying the truth rather than something speculatively cool or more expected. _A spell to not have to do homework. I bet any other student would have said that._ "It's just something good to keep track of. I bet Beaters especially would like to know if they've gained any muscle or weight."

"Okay," Harry says slowly in unsureness. "That was three questions then. Your turn."

A moment passes before Draco asks, "Do you like being Seeker?"

Harry smiles, "I suppose I do, but I just like that I'm useful, you know. I was actually quite amazed I was thought of so highly. It made me feel a bit better about things."

"And if my father had decided to make me Seeker after all, how would that make you feel then?"

Harry's smile fades, "I would be a little sad, but I'd just hope to still be on the team."

"I'm sure you would be." He nods, "Your turn."

"Hmm. Do you have a favorite food?"

Draco's a bit put off by the question, but luckily he does have an answer, "I suppose that would be fried pickles with ranch." He pauses, feeling almost guilty about his eating habits, as his parents haven't figured out how he likes it served. "Without the breading or crumbs."

Harry's eyes enlarge, "Okay. So, this isn't an actual question, but how is that even possible? Wouldn't it just get burnt or something?"

"I don't know," Draco answers. "Our family has a house elf, so it does most of the cooking. And house elves generally know enough spells where I wouldn't be surprised if it had done something during the cooking progress. In any case, by the time I get it the pickles have a similar texture to crisps, and the taste isn't as overwhelming as uncooked ones are."

"Okay. So, this is a question." He pauses for a second to show his disbelief and confusion, "What is a house elf?"

Draco's eyebrows rise, "You don't know what a house elf is?" Harry just shakes his head, a frown apparent as he begins to feel a little stupid. "Alright, well, they look similar to goblins, except their skin a smoother. They tend to work for the wealthiest families or places. In fact, Hogwarts have dozens of house elves in the kitchen basement." He sees Harry's surprise, "It's actually a little more common for wizard schools to have them, just because there are so many students to feed."

It's quiet for a moment, Harry still bewildered that Hogwarts had so many other creatures in the basement he had had no idea about. "Are they sentient?"

Draco laughs, "If you call blindly taking orders sentient, then I suppose they are." He sees Harry about to say something else, "Uh-uh. You've had your fill of questions. It's my turn." He looks at Harry for a moment before speaking, "You said those muggles didn't tell you you're a wizard. How did you find out, and how did you react?"

"Two questions then," Harry smiles. "The Dursleys went really far to make sure I wouldn't come here. I only found out when we were hidden on this island that looked a lot more like a rock, when Hagrid showed up during the storm. I didn't know whether it was a joke or not, but I knew if wizards were real I couldn't possibly be one. It was only when Hagrid started to explain accidental magic that I truly started to believe."

Draco nods, "Hmm. Interesting. So, now, what were you going to ask me?"

Harry shakes his head and slightly laughs, "I've forgotten." It takes him a minute to come up with a new question, "If you couldn't have been in Slytherin, which house would you have liked to be in."

"Not that I could ever not be in Slytherin," he stresses. "But I imagine I would have done quite fine in Ravenclaw if given the chance."

Harry smiles, "I had a feeling it would be that. I don't even know why I bothered to ask."

Draco smirks, "Well, it had to be asked, clearly, or else you wouldn't have." The lantern's creak is heard. "Who is your favorite teacher and class, and who is your least favorite teacher and class?"

"That's four questions."

"Well, answer them."

Harry takes a deep breath, "Well, my favorite teacher is Professor McGonagall, but my favorite class has to be Charms. My least favorite class is Potions, just because of all the homework, and my least favorite teacher has to be a toss between Snape and Quirrell." Draco nods. "How about you?"

"Well, despite the homework Potions is my favorite class and I think Snape may be my favorite teacher. My least favorite teacher and class have to be Madam Sprout and Herbology." He shivers in disgust, "I just hate getting dirty, and she has this whole attitude of 'it doesn't matter whether you like it or not. In the real world you have to do things you don't like' as if my life isn't real and the things I deal with don't matter."

They had both found themselves sitting on the sides of their beds, but at hearing this Harry moves onto Draco's bed, giving a very serious look as he touches his arm, "Your problems matter. Don't let anyone let you think otherwise."

Draco sadly smiles, "Thanks." The light from the lake shifts, as the light shone by the sun had completely gone and now only the vibrant sea life causes the lake to glow. The room had become darker, the lanterns now the main light source, but the lake's color would still be able to be seen through the window. "I guess it's my turn." He folds his hands together, "Have you ever done something you weren't supposed to, something you knew was bad for you?"

"Like steal my cousin's pop stash and drink it all." Harry smiles and shakes his head, "No. No. I can't say I have." and sniggers.

Draco gives a sincere look, "I'm being serious."

Harry lets go of a long breath, "Yes. I've done things. I took Dudley's bike out once while my aunt and uncle had taken him to the movies, didn't wear protection, and never mind that I was never taught how to ride a bike; I fractured my arm." He shakes his head, "Most of the time I'm just not thinking things through well enough, but I have done things. Yes." Draco looks down at the dark green carpet and nods. "Come on. What's this about?"

Draco shakes his head as he's slumped over, his arms crossed as they hang over his knees, "Nothing. I was just making sure I wasn't completely stupid." Harry almost speaks, wanting to tell Draco that he wasn't stupid, but before he can his friend asks, "How many questions do we have left?"

Harry shrugs, "I lost track."

Draco looks at him, "How about one more then, and then we can be done for the night." Harry nods. "What's your favorite color?"

Harry smiles, "Red, I suppose. A dark red, like if it were storming during a late sunset." Draco doesn't respond. "How about you? What's your favorite color?"

"Green."

Harry smiles, "Is that all I'm getting?"

Draco tries to turn to see the lake, but he realizes he can't with the one curtain of his bed having been shut, "I used to think it was like a color of a lake or sea." He looks back at Harry, "But thinking about it, I think the color is much closer to the color of your eyes."

Harry questions, "My eyes?"

Draco shrugs, "Well, yeah. Your eye color is very similar to that of a lake, except where a lake is cold and dark your eyes are brighter and hold a warmth. Sometimes they even shine, as if the sun were really shimmering on a lake."

Harry lets out a short breath, as his mind had grown a little blank from what had been said, "I've heard people compare my eyes to my mother's, but no one has ever described them with such brilliant detail as you have."

Draco huffs a soft laugh, "They must have not been paying attention. It's a hard thing to miss, really." Harry doesn't speak, so he stands to look through his clothes drawer. "It's getting late. We should prepare for bed."

"Yeah. Right." Harry stands up from Draco's bed, walks over to his own dresser, and picks out a pair of pajamas as well.

* * *

\- Hey everyone. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know some people were getting a little discouraged about the lack of Harry plot and issues, so I thought doing this would be a great opportunity to get to know both of the characters better while having their friendship become a little more sturdy. There may not be a lot of plot here, but I hope Harry describing some of his experiences with the Dursleys will hold you off a bit until a few chapters from now, where it's Halloween and the plot of the stone continues (as J. did seem to skip from the newspaper and fluffy right to Halloween). Keep in mind that Harry still needs to figure things out, like what REALLY happened on Halloween, so the word "stone" may take just a chapter or two later than that to actually be said. I'm sorry if this seems slow for some of you, but nonetheless I hope you still find it satisfying regardless.


	30. The Condition

Harry sits down at a table Hermione is studying at, "Hey."

She looks up and smiles in bemusement, "Harry. Where's your glasses?"

"Oh. That." Harry shrugs as if it were nothing, "The captain smashed them. Said I was too young to be wearing glasses."

"But Harry, you've got to see."

"No. It's fine," he assures. "He also brought me to the healer. She gave me this eye potion that improves sight." His eyes move up to the left as he thinks, "I prefer glasses, actually, since the potion can take a few minutes to an hour to take effect and fades over time, but at least I have nothing to break now."

"Don't be too sure about that," Hermione jokes with a sly smile. "You still have bones."

"Right. Of course." He sees her retreat back into her Potion's packet. By the looks of things she must have had some of the questions memorized. "Am I interrupting?"

Hermione lets out a big breath, before looking up at him, "I'm half a day ahead. I suppose I could take five minutes out of my busy schedule to speak with you." Harry doesn't speak. "You haven't brought any materials."

Harry looks around, as he expects there to be something, but he quickly realizes there indeed is nothing. The only thing he had managed to bring was the Slytherin water bottle, which was basically just a grey shimmering bottle with a green snake design wrapped around it. "It is a library. I guess I should have brought something."

Hermione watches as Harry's eyes seem to scan the labels for each section, "Harry. Are you here for another reason other than to see me?"

Harry quickly looks back at her, "No. No. What would make you think that?"

Her eyebrows rise, "Well. There's always the fact that you literally just lied to me." She sees Harry look down at the round, wooden table in guilt. "I'll ask again. Can I help you find something?" He looks back up, and she quickly adds, "As you can probably imagine, I spend a lot of time here. If you're looking for something I'd be a good person to ask."

Harry lets a breath in and out, unsure whether to involve her. _I don't have to tell her everything, and even if I did who would she tell? All she does is study here._ He slowly asks, "What do you know about anemia?"

She gives a half surprised, half questioning look, "I've only ever heard of it. I think it has something to do with blood and oxygen." Her words seem uncertain. "Harry. Is there something I should know?"

He shakes his head, "No. I just overheard someone talk about it in the common room." He looks back down at the table, unable to continue meeting Hermione's inquiring stare. "I just thought I'd feel better knowing what it is." He pauses, "I hate being in the dark." before he looks back up at her.

She nods with a frown, seeming to understand where he's coming from, but Harry recognizes her expression is the one she uses when she's really trying to hold back questions. "It should be in the sections about biology and disease. Let me find something for you."

 _Disease? It's a disease?_ Harry shakes his head after Hermione leaves, convinced he must be an idiot for not thinking of it before. _If it's something that makes him sick, then what else would it be if not a disease?_ He runs through the symptoms Draco had listed. _Tiredness, pale skin, sensitivity to cold, dizziness._ Those things didn't really sound like things he thought of when people were sick. He had always thought that diseases were determined by if someone had a fever, if they were throwing up, if they sneezed or coughed; he never thought of things like sensitivity to cold or dizziness being signs of disease before.

Hermione comes back with a book, moving her materials to the other end of the table and finding a place for the book so that both her and Harry can read it. "Description: Anemia is a condition that develops when a person's blood lacks enough healthy red blood cells or hemoglobin. Hemoglobin is a vital part of red blood cells which binds oxygen. If someone has too few or abnormal red blood cells, or the person's hemoglobin is abnormal or low, the cells in his or her body will not get enough oxygen. This lack of oxygen is what causes symptoms such as fatigue, dizziness, and shortness of breath." Hermione gives Harry a look of concern, "Who did you say this was for?"

He ignores her and continues to read, "There are many types of anemia, each one very different in the causes and treatments. Iron-deficiency anemia, the most common type, is very treatable with a diet change. This diet change should include iron rich items, such as red meat, dark green leafy vegetables, and dried fruit, along with foods high in vitamin C, such as leafy greens, oranges, and strawberries, since vitamin C helps the absorption of iron." Harry pauses for a moment, remembering Draco's seeming obsession with strawberries and the special beef jerky his parents keep sending him. _Do they not only contain twice the protein but also twice the iron?_ Harry shakes his head, taking a stressed breath, before continuing to read, "In general, even though there are many types of anemia, the condition can typically be grouped into three different categories: anemia caused by blood loss, anemia caused by decreased or faulty red blood cell production, and anemia caused by the destruction of red blood cells."

"Harry," Hermione asks with worry, only a bit impatient.

Harry skips the part on anemia caused by blood loss, moving his finger down to the next section to read, "Anemia caused by decreased or faulty red blood cell production. In this type of anemia the red blood cells may be faulty or decreased due to abnormal red blood cells or a lack of minerals and vitamins needed for red blood cells to work properly. Conditions associated with these causes of anemia include the following: sickle cell anemia, iron-deficiency anemia, vitamin deficiency, and other health problems."

"Harry," Hermione says a bit louder, as she pulls Harry's hand away from the page he had attempted to turn. The librarian shushes them, and Hermione continues in a whisper, "What's going on?"

Harry had winced at the paper cut Hermione had caused him, but she wasn't acknowledging it, "Draco would call you a very focused and intelligent creature."

Hermione laughs, "No. I'm quite certain he would just call me a mudblood."

Harry gives her a look, "I never said he would say it to your face." He takes the opportunity to turn the page. "He always complains about how smart you are, says that his father would never stand for him to fall second in class to a muggle-born."

"What? He doesn't call me a mudblood around you?"

"He knows it bothers me," Harry explains. "Why? Is he still saying it to you?"

"From time to time."

Harry's head droops a bit from the information, as if a weight had just been put on top of it, "He's just trying to fit in. Apparently the pureblood community does a lot for him. I'm sorry."

It takes a moment for Hermione to respond, "I thought you said you weren't going to apologize for him anymore."

"Right." Harry stares back down at the book, "Iron deficiency anemia occurs when the body lacks enough of the mineral iron in order to produce ample hemoglobin. Side-effects from this type of anemia can include the following: general fatigue, weakness, pale skin, shortness of breath, dizziness, cravings for nonfood items like dirt, clay, or ice, a tingling feeling in the legs, tongue swelling or soreness, cold hands and feet, fast or irregular heartbeat—" Harry stops in shock. _Draco never mentioned that._ "Brittle nails, and headaches." Vitamin-deficiency anemia may occur when a person's vitamin B12 or folate are deficient. Possible factors may include megaloblastic anemia, pernicious anemia, dietary deficiency, pregnancy, and other health related issues. Side-effects may include the following: fatigue, shortness of breath, dizziness, pale or yellowed skin, irregular heartbeats, loss of appetite, weight loss, numbness or tingling in hands and feet, muscle weakness, personality changes, unsteady movements, and mental confusion or forgetfulness." _It looks like Draco may have a mix of these things._ He quickly skims through the last category, making sure not to miss anything, but it doesn't seem like much, if any of it, would apply to Draco. Harry takes in a deep breath, his hand clenching his hair, before he lets it out.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

Harry shakes his head, "I'm not sure if I feel better or worse. It's nice that I know it's not impossible for it to be treated, but there's worse symptoms here than what I was made aware of."

"Made aware of. So, you do know the person." It only takes her a second to put the pieces together, "Is it Malfoy?"

"Draco's not weak, Hermione."

"I never said he was." She looks down at the book for a moment, "It's just, whoever it is, you seem awful worried for them, and it's not like you've made a lot of friends yet." She looks back up at him, "Come on. It must be Malfoy."

Harry turns his head away, "I really shouldn't be discussing this with you."

"Why not?"

He looks back at her, "Because no one can know. I realize that you don't care about him, and fine, you have the right to, but if you care about me at all then you will leave this alone. You can't tell any of this to anyone. You understand?"

His words were paranoid and filled with stress. Hermione slowly nods but doesn't quite look at him, "Yeah. I think I do."

Harry lets out a relieved breath, but he remains just as tense as before. He closes the book, "Where did you find this?" She points to an isle and he follows the general direction in order to put it away.


	31. Halloween

The Great Hall had already been filled with Halloween decorations, complete with purple lighting and golden streamers, by the time Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had sat down to dinner. The plates also appeared of gold, which is suiting because the Halloween dinner would actually be a feast. Like the start of year feast, this feast would also include the three courses. Draco places a small steak onto his plate just in time to see Harry sit down, "Hey." Harry doesn't respond, and so Draco puts down the fork and knife he had been about to cut his steak with. "You seem angry." He still doesn't speak, but Draco can tell the anger is becoming more intense, "Are you going to tell me or—"

"Would you like to explain why I just had Millicent Bulstode and some Ravenclaw come up to me, saying that Hermione skipped out on their study group along with at least two classes they were aware of and that they think you're the reason why."

Draco distracts himself by picking up the knife and fork again, starting to cut the stake as he mutters, "People need to learn to mind their own business."

"You know that she's apparently been found crying in the girl's bathroom? She's such a mess that Millicent actually told her to stay there until she's able to pull herself together." Draco doesn't speak. "Please tell me you aren't the cause of all this."

He doesn't look up at Potter. He couldn't. "I may have spoken to her."

"What did you say to her," Harry lets out in a sad sternness, what Draco would identify to be a reaction to betrayal. He hadn't meant to betray Harry, but he had meant almost every word he had said to Granger.

He remembers how early that morning they had found themselves crossing paths in a hall, and Draco couldn't help but call out, "Hey. Granger."

She turned around, the usual stack of books clutched in her arms. "Yes, Malfoy."

Her voice had been less defensive or antagonized than he thought it would be. He takes a few steps closer, "I thought I told you to stay away from Potter."

"Since when is it your place to decide who I'm friends with?" she defends.

Draco scoffs, "What are you talking about? You have no friends, and how could you when you're huddled up in that library all the time."

"If I'm remembering correctly, I've seen you spend time there too."

"Perhaps." Draco's tone is even, undisturbed, "But I don't pretend that I live there."

Hermione shakes her head, "I don't have to listen to you." before she pivots on her toe to turn around.

"Harry deserves better than you."

Hermione stops, looking back at Draco, "What, you mean the likes of you?"

"Exactly." He gestures to her entire being, "Really. You're just pathetic; your hair is a mess, you're holding onto your books like your life depends on them, and you're letting your emotions run wild in front of someone they really shouldn't be."

"I'm human. I'm going to have emotions."

"That's no excuse to display them for the entire world to see," he snarls. "Maybe that's why you have no friends. You never say anything anyone wants to hear, always trying your best to prove you're better than everyone else as if you were anything other than a muggle. No one could stand the company of your sort. No one could be friends with a mudblood like you."

"Harry's my friend," she comments softly in a clear voice, but tears begin to sting her eyes anyway.

"Do you honestly think he will stay your friend?" He takes a step closer, "Harry is valuable, and from what I've seen he's more skillful in subjects you can only hope to learn from these stupid books you spend all your time with. Speaking of which, how many people do you think are going to put up with this whole watching you do homework thing?" He smirks, "Believe me, the time will come when Harry comes to his senses, and when that happens the only friend you will have are those dusty pages of those tattered, old library books."

Her tears betray her as she whimpers, "He would never. We're friends."

"Not for long," Draco assures. "A legend like him has no reason to stoop so low as to associate with someone like you."

"Draco." Harry's voice breaks through his thoughts, "What did you tell her?"

It takes a second for him to respond, but his mouth only opens slightly before Professor Quirrell screams, "Troll in the dungeon. Troll in the dungeon." as he runs down to the teachers' table in panic. He slumps down in front of Dumbledore's seat, "I thought you should know." before he faints down to the ground.

There's mass hysteria as Harry asks Draco, "The dungeon. Don't tell me we're going to have to sleep somewhere else tonight."

"He clearly means the part of the dungeons that classes are, the area where he would have been for his own classroom."

At the sight of purple firecrackers the hall falls silent, as each person turns toward the headmaster. His voice is loud, which contrasts his usual calmness, "Prefects lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately."

Harry looks from each of the scurrying lines of houses to Draco to the floor, "I have to get Hermione. She won't know."

"You can't be serious." He sees Harry's very serious and worried expression, "You're barking mad if you're planning to wander about while a troll's on the loose."

"I have to do something," Harry counters.

"It's just Granger," Malfoy responds, not seeming to understand how Harry's mind turns to saving a friend. "You should leave her. We need to get to safety; us especially, since the troll is only half a dungeon away from blocking our dorm."

Harry shakes his head, "I don't believe you. You're saying I should just let my friend be left to the fate of a troll."

"If you don't, it may be you who ends up dead." He seems a bit upset, as if the thought of Harry's death was bringing him to tears. "I couldn't have that."

"Oh. So, you do have a heart?" Harry responds sarcastically.

"Yes, I have a heart," Draco sneers. "And if you had a brain you would come with me." He feels his eyes burn as his words become harsher, "This Granger girl, she isn't worth it."

"Um. Guys." Crabbe was gesturing towards the large gap there was, as they were now all at the end of the line which would be heading towards their house dorm.

As they catch up Harry comments, "You can't stop me from saving her."

Draco laughs with hurt, but his tone is still mean and cold, "Be careful Potter. You're starting to sound like one of those reckless Gryffindors."

Harry shakes his head in disappointment, "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Whenever we get into an argument you use my last name." Draco doesn't speak. "You don't have to distance yourself. I don't know why you behave so differently around others, around my other friends, but even with everything that's happened you're still my friend and you're not going to lose me."

Draco gulps, taking an unintended shaky breath, "And how am I supposed to think back on this moment when you wind up dead."

"I won't end up dead. I promise."

Draco huffs a laugh, "You really shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

Harry shakes his head, as he backs away from the line which is now in the main corridor, "I'm sorry, but I have to go." and with that he runs down the hallways, listening for signs of life in each of the girls' bathrooms as he does so. Hearing a sniffle, he soon stops, and he enters the bathroom. "Hermione."

She stands in front of a mirror, a piece of towel clutched near her nose. She sees his reflection in the mirror and turns toward him, "Harry. What are you doing here?"

He takes a few steps closer, "There's no time to explain. A troll's been spotted in the dungeon, and everyone's been told to go to their dorms. We need to leave."

Hermione shakily points above him, "You mean that troll?"

Harry turns around and at the sight of the tall, club-handling beast and moves away from it, "What do we do?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

He comments with panicky irritation, "Well, considering you're the best student in our year, I can't imagine why you would know how to stop a troll or anything."

She shakes her head, fear clouding her mind as she's finding it suddenly blank. "I don't know," she yells as the troll comes closer to them, smashing some of the sinks as it does so. "Ah, maybe that spell from charms, so we don't end up like that."

"Which spell?"

Harry seems a lot calmer than her, which irritates her even further, "Draco was right. You're far too good for me."

"He said what?" Harry bellows. The troll smashes in a couple stalls as well, as it slowly inches its way towards the human stench. "The spell, Hermione. What spell is it?"

Harry's wand has been pointed out for several moments now, just waiting for something to cast. She was failing him, "The one with the levitation."

Harry remembers it now, "Right." and repositions his wand towards the troll's club. "Wingardium Leviosa." Nothing happens.

Hermione stutters, "You must have to, to swish flick." Harry understands and tries again, this time the club levitating to his will. Without even thinking, he knocks it down towards the troll's small scull and the creature falls to the ground. Not a moment later passes when Hermione lunges at him for a hug. Harry's unsure of what to do at first, his arms raised high in the air, but soon enough he accepts it. "Oh. Thank you, Harry. I didn't even have my wand on me. If you hadn't shown up when you did, then, well—"

Harry interrupts, "It was no problem. Really." and she lets go.

"No. It was, and really. Thank you."

Harry nods before turning back to the troll, "Do you think it's dead?"

The large creature makes a disturbing noise, before Hermione answers, "No. Just knocked out." After another loud noise, she concludes, "We should leave before it wakes up." Harry nods and they stride off, but they don't even make it down the hallway before they are met with McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell.

Snape looks at Harry in disappointment, but, of course, on Snape this can easily be mistaken for passive anger, "What are you doing out of your dormitories?"

Harry, almost speechless, points behind him, "The troll is on the girls' bathroom floor." At this Quirrell looks over behind them and slowly moves his way towards the bathroom.

"You had better have a very good explanation for being out and in the girls' bathroom, Potter." His teeth were clenched and had remained that way throughout the sentence.

"I knew Hermione was in one of them, and I had to warn her."

McGonagall speaks up, "Why didn't you just send a teacher to find her?"

Harry looks to the floor for a moment and licks his lips, "She was in the bathroom because a friend of mine had upset her, and I felt a need to warn her because of it, but mostly, I suppose, I just didn't think. I'm sorry."

Quirrell scurries back and McGonagall asks, "Find anything interesting, Professor?"

He stutters, "Well, uh, yes. Well, of course, the troll was there after all."

McGonagall nods before sternly looking over the two students sternly, "I'm very disappointed in you. You could have been killed." She clicks her tongue and takes a stressed breath, "Although, you did take down a mountain troll. I dare say, not many first years could have done that." She shakes her head, "I don't know whether to give points or take them away. Professor Snape, what do you think?"

"What I think," he responds in cold anger, "Is that Harry just got done with a month of detention, as a punishment from putting himself in danger and now I see him do it again." His eyes, a dark black, grow colder with disapproval, "I say Potter is acting way too much like a Gryffindor for my taste, what with this constant endangerment of his own life. No offense, Professor McGonagall."

"No offense taken," she responds. "As it turns out, Gryffindor has the most physical injuries of all the houses; although, I do like to think children are just reckless in general."

"Well, this one certainly seems to be. Why don't I have a little talk with Potter down in my classroom, before I send him off to bed? You can do the same with Granger." He looks at Quirrell, "I assume you can take care of the troll."

"What, me?" he stutters."

"Why, yes," Snape half-smiles. "After all, you were the one that let it in."

"He did what?" McGonagall asks in fury.

"Oh. Didn't he tell you," Snape responds calmly. "Our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor thought it would be a good idea for the students to get some first-hand experience with these dimwitted creatures." He looks at Quirrell disapprovingly, "Unfortunately, it looks like it was more than he could handle and he lost control."

McGonagall lowers her spectacles, "You are aware, Quirrell, that teachers need to ask permission from the headmaster before doing something so dangerous."

"I'm sorry, Professor."

Harry shakes his head in annoyance, as the teacher starts to ramble and stutter uncontrollably, but then he sees it. He pulls on Hermione's robe and motions her to see Snape's bloody leg as well. "Bite marks," she whispers, before Snape sees their stares and covers the injury with his cape.

Harry mouths to her, "Fluffy."

"What?"

"The dog's name is Fluffy. It's Hagrid's."

"Is there something you'd like to share with us Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger?"

At hearing McGonagall's voice, Hermione blurts out, "Oh, no. I was just thanking Harry again for saving my life. He's the bestest friend I could ever hope for."

Harry gives her a look, suddenly wondering who she was and what she did with the real Hermione, but since he didn't want to make a joke during such a serious time he kept quiet. Snape comments, "Well, then. We better hurry. It's already almost past curfew, and that troll could wake up at any moment."


	32. Life for a Life

Harry had almost hoped that Snape would just give him another detention, but he was becoming more uneasy the more it became obvious that he really had wanted to speak with him. "We need to talk about this behavior of yours. Do you crave attention? Do you secretly want to die? Tell me, what compels you to endanger your life like this?"

Harry tries to search his mind for a reason, but he sees everything he's done to have been circumstantial. He isn't able to pinpoint an exact reason why it would be a consistent behavior, "I don't mean to. It just happens." He pauses, "I guess I just don't think. I'll try to think more. Can I go now?"

"Oh, no," Snape drags out as he sits in the chair of his desk. "We're just beginning. Take a seat, won't you." Harry reluctantly takes a seat on the other side of the desk. "Harry. Do you know how you were orphaned?"

"Voldemort killed my parents."

"Pretty careless throwing his name out like that, what with the hex that was once attached to it."

"The vague version, the You-Know-Who, scares me more."

Snape nods, "Well, he should scare you. After all, you were only moments away from death when your mother jumped out in front of you to save your life."

Harry doesn't blink, his mouth slightly gaped open in shock, "She did what?"

"She gave her life, so you could live." Harry stays quiet, unable to process it well. "I just felt I should tell you." He shakes his head, "It really is quite awful of you to risk your life like this, when your mother could be alive right now instead of you."

Harry shakes his head, "I didn't know."

"Of course, you didn't," Snape mutters nonchalantly. "But now that you do, can I be reassured that you won't be jeopardizing your life again?"

Harry licks his lips, "I'll try not to." It's not like he had been trying to risk his life in the first place. _But what could I say? That my mom should have let me die, because I'll no doubt ignorantly walk out into death's arms?_

Snape comments, "Just do your best to stay out of trouble." He takes a red lollipop from his cup. "You can start by not disobeying school rules."

Harry nods, "Of course." before he looks longingly at the suckers, his stomach growling uncontrollably. "Can I have one?"

Snape smirks, "They're still mine." and he puts the unwrapped one into his mouth. "I'm sure someone in your dorm will have something suiting. Try, let's say, Draco Malfoy."

Harry shakes his head, "No. I can't ask him."

"And why's that?"

Harry has a hard time finding the words, words that won't betray his friend's trust, "Because they were a present from his parents, and you don't just give away a present."

"That hasn't stopped him before." Harry doesn't know what to say. "You're free to leave." Harry turns around to leave, but his house professor speaks again. "Oh, and to keep you out of trouble, you will have detention every evening this week that you don't have quidditch practice, during the same hours." Harry kicks the floor on his way out, criticizing himself for not getting out sooner.


	33. Self-Preservation

"I still don't understand why you were so torn up about him putting himself in danger. Vincent and I have done a bunch of stupid things through the years, and you never tried to stop us from wandering around the Romanian dragon wildlife preserve or anything."

Draco shakes his head, "That was different."

"How?"

The truth is he doesn't know what the difference is, and it angers him that he hasn't an explanation for it, "I don't know. It just is."

Crabbe comments, "Could it be that we're just more experienced than him, and you're just more worried about him because he doesn't know as much as we do?"

Draco lets out a breath, as he runs his fingers through his gelled-back hair, "I don't know. Maybe." The more he tries to think of a reason the more anxious he gets, to a point where he stands and begins to rummage through his drawers.

"What are you looking for?" asks Goyle.

"Nothing. Something," Draco answers, unsure of what he's doing himself, but after a moment he sees the black journal and pulls it out. He runs his hand over the scaly leather once, before he opens it, takes a moment, and begins to write. A little while later, after his thoughts had been written to paper, he comments, "It's not like you guys don't make good friends. You do." He looks up to see the neutral expressions on their faces, "I think what the difference is, though, is that Harry doesn't have an obligation to know me. You guys and I were practically just put in a room and told to be friends, and even though it worked out fine, I think what might be different is that he's not part of the community." He looks down to the green blanket for a second, "It would just feel easier to lose him, I guess, whether it be his friendship or his actual living being."

Crabbe laughs, "And what? You think that because we're part of the community, you could never lose us? Does being part of the community make us immortal or something now?"

"I know it's irrational," Draco states. "I only meant—"

"We know what you meant," Goyle interrupts. He continues to speak as Draco puts the journal away. "I suppose it makes sense. I'll give you that, but you can't expect us to always be around or to always be your friend. People die, people leave, and things change."

Draco's quiet for a moment, "I know that." He was about to explain further, but then he sees Harry walk in. He doesn't know what to say, but luckily for him, he doesn't have to.

"I got detention again," Harry complains, before he sits down on his bed. "Snape and I had a little heart to heart about how selfish I am for endangering myself, and that I should feel guilty about my actions since, apparently, my mom could be alive today instead of me." He shakes his head and lets out a big breath, as he attempts to smile, "But I'm still alive."

Draco nods but doesn't speak. _What am I supposed to say? That Snape is right? That I'm glad he managed to, I assume, save that mudblood, even if he risked his own life for it? That I'm so happy he's okay, even though he literally just left me like rubbish to save that Granger girl?_

Harry looks at Draco for a long moment, as if he had been expecting him to say something. "What? No 'you wouldn't have gotten in trouble if you had stayed with me'. No 'did you at least save that girl'. No 'I'm glad you're okay'."

Draco mumbles, "If you hadn't saved her, you wouldn't have smiled." _Because I'm nothing but rubbish._ He pulls out one of his drawers and takes out a small box with skeleton wrapping, "As you may have guessed, Halloween is a big holiday in the wizard world. Some friends or families like to exchange a gift or two, not that everyone does." He hands the box to Harry. "I don't expect you to have anything for me this year, but seeing as you've been a good friend, I just thought I should get you something."

Harry smiles, "Thanks." before opening it. He takes out the silver wool and sees it's a pair of gloves.

"I would have gotten you red," Draco comments. "But if I'm remembering correctly, the colors of red, yellow, blue, and green can only be worn by the members of their houses."

"These are really nice," Harry comments as he feels the soft, warm material.

"They're the same ones I have, although mine are green. If it was gotten from the right place, then they will have enchantments to keep them dry and heated. So, they should work just fine during the winter as well."

Harry grins, "I don't know what to say."

"Well, considering you already said thanks, that should be good enough."

Harry's smile fades, "You do know I didn't mean to leave you like that. I just needed to save her."

Draco's eyes shift, "Well, I'm fairly certain that you didn't have to do anything, but I understand that you care about her for some reason, so I do understand."

It takes a moment for Harry to comment, "She's my friend. I had to save her. I'm sure you would have done the same thing if it was me instead of Hermione."

Draco doesn't want to admit it, but he has a feeling that he would have risked his life for Harry's if it came down to it. "That doesn't mean it's a good idea. It's a horrible idea. You shouldn't have gone after her."

"That's where you're wrong," Harry responds. "The troll was right there, and she didn't even have her wand. If I hadn't gone, she may have as well died."

Draco shakes his head, "Something you will learn, Potter, is that a Slytherin always chooses the choice that has the best results. It is rare that that choice results in their death."

"This may not have been the best choice for me, but it was the best choice for her. How could I have stayed safe? By telling some teacher I don't know well that a girl is in one of the bathrooms, and just trust that they can find and save her? I don't think so."

Draco takes a loud breath, "I just wish you'd try to stay safer."

It takes a minute for Harry to respond, as he remembers Snape's clear attempt to get past the three-headed dog and steal whatever was hidden beneath the floor. "I know I may seem reckless, but I'm just trying to do what's right. If I feel like people are in danger, I can't help if I feel like I should help in some way."

Draco shakes his head, "You don't have a single self-preservation bone in your body, do you?"

Harry smiles, "Only time will tell."

Draco lies down on his bed, "It's going to be a long school year."

"I don't know about that," says Harry. "The semester ends before the Christmas holidays and that's only a couple months away."

"But still," Draco responds. "We're only a couple months into the school year, and second term is longer than the first." Harry's stomach growls loudly, and Draco turns his head towards him. "You hungry?"

"Well," Harry hesitates. "We kind of missed dinner."

Draco sits back up and pulls open his food drawer. In it contains beef jerky, nuts, and an assortment of dried fruit. Focusing on the fruit in the container, Harry thinks he can name them as papaya, oranges, and apples. Looking at the rest of the drawer, he's surprised to find all of the pastries to have been gone, as he was sure he hadn't seen Draco eat any of those in a while. The banana nut bread, on the other hand, doesn't seem to have been touched at all. "Well. Are you going to pick something or just stare at it?"

Harry murmurs nonsense for a moment, before he points at the bread, "I'll just have a couple pieces."

Draco hands Harry the entire thing, "Have as much as you want. You can even keep it." Knowing that he's probably getting looks from Crabbe and Goyle he continues, "I'm just going to have some fruit and nuts."

Harry nods, "I did some research. Apparently those are good for you."

Draco's expression falls into a quiet, paranoid concern, "You researched?"

"Well, yeah." Harry shrugs, "You're my friend. I had to look it up." Draco doesn't speak. "Did you not want me to look it up?"

Draco takes a sip from his water bottle, "No. Of course, not. I'm just surprised that with everything else going on that you'd take the time to look it up, especially when I summarized it for you already."

"Yeah. About that." Harry pauses, "You neglected to mention things like the shortness of breath and irregular heartbeat."

Draco turns his head away for a second, "I just listed the things that happen to me most often. I do get short of breath sometimes, but that's when there's a lot of running or exercise and stuff."

Harry lets a breath in and out, finding this a little hard to let go, "And you would tell me, wouldn't you, if it got worse than that? If you couldn't handle it by yourself?"

Draco smiles, "I said I would." but it's a fake smile and his eyes show the sad experiences he must have endured. He really didn't know whether he could ever admit it had gone too far when it does, but he knows that right now the only person he really trusts is himself. His eyes shift to the floor as he remembers asking Harry if he had ever done anything he knew was bad for him. Draco knows it's bad for him, but he hasn't really found a reason to care. Doing what he's been doing, he's been doing so great in everything. He has at least an Exceeds Expectations in every class now, he's been doing great in quidditch, and as far as he's concerned he looks just as physically perfect as every Malfoy should. Who cares how he got there, so long as he got there?

"Draco. Are you okay?"

He looks up, "Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well," Harry hesitates. "I asked you something and you didn't respond."

Draco shakes his head, "Sorry. I got distracted."

"That's a side-effect, isn't it?"

Harry's concern irritates him a bit, "What, you never get distracted?"

"Well, yeah I do—"

"Then leave me alone."

Harry watches as Draco lies back down on his bed, "I was just going to say, I don't usually get distracted in the middle of a conversation." Draco stays quiet. "I'd just like to know if you're doing fine."

"I'm fine." Draco looks at Harry, "In fact, I'm perfectly perfect." before he shuts the curtain on both sides of his bed, a glimpse of a concerned Crabbe catching his eye before he's covered in darkness.


	34. The Aftershock of Halloween

The next morning towards the end of their two hour Potions class, Harry walks over to where Hermione and Ron are seated and whispers to her, "Hey."

She looks up at him and smiles, "Hey."

Harry glances around the room before continuing, "So, Halloween night. That was really something."

She nods, "Well, it was certainly interesting."

"Mr. Potter." He turns around and sees Snape hovering over him. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"What am I doing?" Harry questions.

"What are you doing out of your seat and over here?" Snape elaborates.

"Oh, um. Just chatting. Just chatting with Hermione."

"Hmm," Snape looks at him suspiciously. "Don't you think your time would be better spent doing the in-class assignment?"

"But we've finished, Sir."

The professor grits his teeth, "Then you won't mind showing it to me, and then afterwards you can work on the packet the class has just received today."

"Right." He turns back to Hermione for a second and whispers, "The library this afternoon after classes." before he's shouldered away over to his seat.

* * *

Later that afternoon in the library Harry finds Hermione and sits down with her, "It's important isn't it, if Snape's trying to steal it?"

"I imagine so, but we have no idea what it is. I could be anything from some elixir to a large magical creature."

"Actually," says Harry. "It's just the size of someone's hand."

She gives him a look, "And how did you come across this information?"

Harry mumbles, "When Hagrid was helping me with getting school stuff, when we went to the bank he had to get something for Dumbledore he said. It was small enough to fit inside his hand."

Hermione stares down at her stack of books, "Still. It could be anything."

"Why don't we just ask him?" She gives him a look. "What? I'm serious. The dog is his, he brought whatever it is from the bank to the school; he's clearly protecting it. He should know it's going to be stolen. He needs to be warned."

"Even so," Hermione seems doubtful. "What are we supposed to say? That we wandered off to the forbidden corridor, which was against school rules, and that's how we know about the three-headed dog."

It's Harry's turn to give her a look, "Hagrid already knows, Hermione. How did you think I knew the name of the dog?"

She shifts her books around, "It could have easily worn a collar." She sees Harry's dumbfounded, blank stare. "Okay. So, Hagrid already knows, but I don't see how he's going to believe us. All we have is our word. We have no evidence."

Harry comments stubbornly, "We have to try."

Hermione takes a deep breath, "Alright, but can it wait? I'd like to get some studying done while I'm still here." She dots her eyes to a water ring on the table. "My dorm can get a bit noisy. They really like truth or dare, and there's always this competiveness to see who's braver." She shakes her head, "I couldn't possibly get any decent work done there."

"Alright," Harry hesitates. "But I've got detention this evening before dinner. If you're planning to go during then, then I won't be able to join you."

"It's alright. I'll handle it, but seriously. I should really get my work done. If I leave before completing it, then I'll feel guilty and be unfocused."

Harry nods, "I understand. I'll go." He stands, "See you later."


	35. Adult Business

"Yeah, well, I think Harry is just catching your paranoidness."

Hermione nearly laughs, as she stops in her tracks and faces Ron. "Paranoia," she emphasizes. "Can't be caught, and we're not. We saw it all with our own eyes." She continues walking, "For crying out loud. You saw the dog yourself."

"Still sounds mad to me." He shakes his head, a bit annoyed with Hermione constantly correcting him. "Remind me why we're friends."

"Because the guys in your dorm don't appreciate your unique mind, causing them all to pair up for classes without you, and you'd rather be partnered with me than with Nevil." She gives a questioning look, "You think I'm smarter or something?"

"No. Just less clumsy and forgetful," Ron remembers. "If I had to pair up with him in Potions, I'd probably be dead by now."

Hermione suppresses a laugh as she knocks on the hut door, "In any case, aren't you glad to have me around?"

Ron doesn't know how to answer. On one hand, she was more annoying than his family's ghoul, which kept them awake at all hours. On the other hand, at least she was good enough at school for the both of them. He doesn't want to answer, knowing his unsureness may upset her and he really didn't want to get hexed, and luckily for him the door opened just in time.

"Ah. Hermione. Ron. I wasn't expecting you."

"I have something important to tell you," Hermione hurries, her face filled with concern.

"Ah, well, come in." He steps out of the way. "Come in. I'll put on the kettle." He sniffs the air, "Oh, and I think my cakes are ready too."

Hermione and Ron sit at the small table, and when Hagrid sits down he offers them some of the small cakes. "Those are cakes?" Ron exclaims with shocked disgust. Hermione elbows him underneath the table. "Ow." He turns to her, "What was that for?"

Hermione, having seen Hagrid's confused and hurt look, politely smiles, "Oh. They look great Hagrid, but with dinner being so soon, I couldn't possibly." Her smile only falters for a second, as she sees the hard and blackened circles. "We really shouldn't ruin our appetite." She smiles brightly towards Ron, "Isn't that right?"

Ron takes an extra moment to catch on, "Oh. Yeah. Right." He coughs, "There's no need to fill up on sweets before it."

Hagrid nods and moves the cakes a little off to the side, "Yes. Well, I suppose you're right about that." He hears the kettle and goes to fill up some cups. "So, this important news. What is it? I don't see Harry. He's not in trouble, is he?"

"He's got detention," Hermione explains.

Hagrid shakes his head, as he comes over with the filled cups and kettle, "He's going to have to learn to stop that. Looks bad on the record, you know."

"He got it by saving my life," Hermione defends.

"Oh. Well, then. Can't stop what's bound to happen, then, can we?" He takes a sip from his large cup, "This news. What is it, then?"

Ron answers doubtfully, "Hermione and Harry have this weird idea that you're hiding something underneath the floor of the room where the three-headed dog is, and they're convinced Snape is trying to steal whatever it is."

"Rubbish," Hagrid says, a little put off. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher. He'd do nothin' of the sort."

"Then how do you explain the bite marks on his leg?" informs Hermione.

"Bite marks?"

"I reckon they've gone mad," says Ron in half boredom, half irritation.

"We have not," Hermione shouts back at Ron. She looks back at Hagrid, "I wasn't just imagining it. How could two people conjure up the same delusion?"

Hagrid shifts in his seat, "I'm sorry, Hermione, but I've got to agree with Ron on this." Hermione sees Ron become suddenly smug, clearly happy as his arms cross over his chest in newfound confidence. "I'm not sayin' you didn't see anything." She looks back at the gamekeeper. "But it could have been any number of things: a snake bite, a miscast spell, or even an injury from his Potions class. It needn't have been a dog bite."

Hermione clutches the table's edge, "Well, it was certainly too large for a snake bite."

Hagrid shakes his head, anger seeming to steam off him, "Let myself make this very clear. This is adult business, and you weren't even meant to be near the area the dog is in. So, you forget about Fluffy, you forget about what he's guardin', and you let go of your theory 'bout Snape." He had a finger pointed at them during this, but he lets it fall back down now. "Snape is a Hogwarts teacher, one of the teachers protecting the—" His words stumble. "Object. He's not about to steal it."

"But," Hermione continues. "What if you're wrong about Snape? This object must be really important for it to have so much security. What if he does steal it?"

"Impossible. Now, like I said, stop asking questions—questions about anything top secret that is—and put this rubbish theory to rest."

"Top secret?" asks Hermione. "Why's it top secret?"

"I don't know. That's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel."

"Nicolas Flamel?" Hermione repeats.

"Dumbledore?" Ron questions.

Hagrid shakes his head and places it in his hand, "I've said too much." He nods to the door, "You'd better leave. Dinner will no doubt be served soon."

"What about you?" asks Hermione. "Aren't you coming?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Hagrid looks around for an excuse to wait, "I just have to wash a couple pans, but I'll be at that table. Don't you worry." When they still don't stand he gives a sterner look, "On with you now. Don't be late." and then they finally stand to leave.

Before exiting the hut, though, Hermione gives a sad look, "I didn't mean to ask so many questions, I swear. I just couldn't help but think."

Hagrid takes a calming breath, "Don't worry 'bout it. Just stay quiet, and everything should be fine." She nods, turns around, and slowly leaves.


	36. Slytherin vs Gryffindor

After lunch had ended that Saturday, everyone found their way to the stands and team tents. They only had a short while to change their clothes and have the optional encouraging speech or talk of strategy. "What are we going to do?" Flint shouts.

"Win!" the team sounds.

"And how are we going to do it?" he yells again.

"At the costs!" the team erupts.

Harry had been quiet. He was well aware of what the 'all costs' meant. It involved everything from bumping into other players to not backing down due to illness or injury. _Being sick and throwing up is seen as an advantage, as it's just another obstacle the other team has to get around._ He doesn't like it. Other teams think they're just being unfair, but he doesn't understand how it's unfair if his team members have to suffer as well. _Although, no one should have to suffer at all._

"And Harry, what will you do?"

Harry shakes himself from his thoughts, "Catch the snitch, even if it kills me."

The captain shows his uneven teeth in a large smirk, "Yes. You will." He claps his hands together, "We need to win this to have any chance at securing that cup, so get out there, do your best, and don't let anything or anyone get in your way."

Everyone had stood rather quickly, most likely due to the messed up pep talk, but Harry continues to sit in thought. He was used to pretending he didn't exist, whenever his uncle had coworkers stopping by for dinner or whenever a reason was found to throw Dudley one of those elaborate parties. What he wasn't used to was being told he's expendable. Obviously he isn't and Harry knows that, but on the Slytherin team winning is everything. If he catches the snitch but dies, and if they did win the seasonal cup, then he would die a hero. "Harry? You coming?"

Harry looks up to see Draco standing above him, "Yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking."

"What about?"

Harry shakes his head, "Nothing. It's nothing." He walks ahead, "Let's go." Exiting the tent, the heating charms no longer take effect, and they are subdued to the cold November air. The frosted grass crunch under their boots, as a large wind passes over them and Draco crosses his arms with a shiver. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Draco lets out a breath. "Just cold."

"Maybe you should have worn something more under the quidditch robes today. I know I had to keep on a long sleeve shirt and a pair of sweatpants."

Draco shudders, "For your information, Potter, I'm actually wearing a sweater and two layers of gloves, both complete with heating enchantments."

Harry's quiet for a moment, "And you're still cold?"

"Yes, well, I get cold. Surely you remember that."

Harry nods, and then shakes his head while feeling rather stupid, "Yes. I do. I'm sorry." Draco doesn't respond. "Are you sure you'll be okay to play?"

"I'll play until I'm dead."

Meanwhile, Hermione is in the Gryffindor stands skimming through a book, as Ron sits next to her and looks out at the field and sees Harry and Malfoy lagging significantly behind the other players. "What do you think that's about?"

Hermione looks up and notices Harry grabbing Draco's arm to turn him around, and soon after there's some hand and arm motions with clear frustration, "Looks like an argument."

Ron watches as Hermione dives back into her book, "What could they be arguing about?"

She looks up and takes a frustrated breath, "I don't know, Ron. May you please just let me read? I need to find any connection I can between Dumbledore and Flamel."

Ron nods before looking back to the field, "You know I'd be happy to help you, right? It's just that I can't with homework and these very important things."

Hermione raises an eyebrow, doubting whatever he thought to be important to actually be important. _It's probably nothing more than some excuse._ "Ron, this is something very important. You know how important this must be, if it's really been guarded by so many things."

"Yeah, yeah." It had been less of a question and more a lecture, and he hates lectures. He looks around the field, seeing his brothers as prepared as ever, and slides his eyes back over towards the Slytherin team. Harry and Draco still weren't with the group, which was now running through a basic checklist of tied boots and such. "What the bloody hell?"

"What is it?" Hermione peers up from her book. Ron points towards the two Slytherin players, and Hermione watches as Draco attempts to push Harry with poor results. Harry pushes back and suddenly Draco is slammed against the ground, which was a much larger outcome than the single inch Harry had been pushed.

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry." Harry rushes over and offers Draco a hand up, but Draco looks at him as if he's crazy.

He looks around at the stands, finding himself embarrassed with the many eyes on him. Harry, his friend, had just shown the entire school how weak he truly is; moreover, Harry had shown his father how weak he is. The look on his father's face is one of disapproval, and if his mother had been there he's sure she would have been nothing but worried. He glares back at Harry, "You've done it this time, Potter." before he stands and dusts the wet frost from his robes.

Harry retracts his hand, "I was just trying to help."

Draco shakes his head, "Well, maybe you should learn how to help people in a way that doesn't cause a scene and get certain people into trouble." He glances at his father again, and this time Harry's eyes follow. "Really. You've helped a lot." He turns around and moves forward towards their team, who were now all in position and waiting for them.

Ron mutters in confusion, "What just happened?"

Hermione shakes her head, "I don't know. We're too far to hear." She watches closely as they each climb their brooms and fly into position, but after the first few minutes of the game she's reassured that everything and everyone is okay and that she may return to her research.

A while later Hermione and Ron find themselves making room for Hagrid, and they're forced to squish next to each other. "Been watchin' from my hut," Hagrid says as he taps his binoculars. "But it's not as good as bein' in the crowd." He looks around the field, "No sign of the snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," says Ron. "The Seekers haven't had much to do yet."

"Ah, yes, well," responds the tall, large man. "I see Harry's kept himself outta trouble. That's somethin'."

"Actually," says Ron.

Hermione interrupts, growling to him in a whisper, "I'm sure it wasn't what it looked like, Ron."

"What didn't look like what?" asks Hagrid.

Hermione lets out a large breath, "Right before the match it seemed like Malfoy and Harry got into a fight."

"Yeah," Ron continues. "And Harry must have pushed him really hard, because Malfoy ended up straight down on his back. Must have hit the ground hard with how fast it was."

Hermione interjects, "But we don't know if Harry meant to push him that hard, had he even pushed him that hard at all."

"Pff," Ron smiles. "Did you not see what I saw? Harry definitely let his anger get the best of him. Not that it matters." He looks at Hermione, "This is Malfoy; the same person who's been messing with you nearly all year, the same person whose family was loyal to You-Know-Who, so don't tell me he doesn't at least deserve it."

Hermione looks to the ground, remembering just how human Draco really is, "You can't base a book by its cover, Ron."

Hagrid responds, "Hermione's right, Ron, and as far as his family bein' loyal to You-Know-Who, they claimed to have only done those things under the imperius curse."

Ron huffs, "My father works in the ministry. You honestly think I don't know that?" He looks back at Hermione, "And you. Malfoy has been nothing but mean to you, and now you're defending him?"

"I'm not defending him," Hermione defends.

"Yes you are," Ron interrupts.

"He's still human," Hermione explains. "And you can't choose your family."

Ron shakes his head, "I can't believe this. You're a bloody sympathizer."

"Ah. Hello?" They look over to Hagrid, who seems to have his eyes glued into the binoculars. "You both may want to see this."

Hermione looks to where his binoculars are pointing to, seeing Harry's broom out of control and flipping in circles. "Ron, I know your brothers love tricks, but this has gone too far."

"It's no trick," responds Hagrid, now ungluing himself from the binoculars. "It's a hex."

Hermione looks at the situation more closely, "You're right. It is." She gestures her head towards his binoculars. "May I borrow those?" Hagrid gives them to her and she finds Snape in the Slytherin stand, "I knew it."

"Knew what?" asks Ron. She hand them to him so he can see, and when she points Snape out to him he sees the teacher muttering while staring at the broom. "What should we do?"

"Leave that to me," Hermione replies before exiting the stand. Soon afterwards a fire erupts from the Slytherin stand, and Harry makes it safely back onto his broom. By the time she makes it back to the stands the game is over, as the announcer soon shouts that Slytherin wins despite the odd broom behavior.

Ron grumbles, "Maybe we shouldn't have done anything."

Hermione hits him on the shoulder, "Don't even think that. He could have died."


	37. The Checkup

- **Trigger Warning** for eating disorders and body dysmorphic disorder. This chapter holds a slight description of someone's weight and appearance. It also mentions situations involving the concepts of restriction and binging, and how binging can result in some people getting sick afterwards. It's not very detailed and definitely not graphic, but I feel a trigger warning is still necessary. **Also** , even though Draco's father cares about his son (or at least I hope he cares and it's not all about having an heir and "good" reputation), his behavior towards Draco may still be interpreted as borderline abusive. I'm sorry if it brings up any bad memories for some people, but some other people can do well with the knowledge that sometimes parents can care too much (especially if they're ignorant about what's going on). Anyway, I think that's all there is to this chapter, although I will say it gets a little intense. You've been warned.

* * *

Draco feels his father's tight grasp begin to bruise his wrist, as he's being pulled towards the hospital wing. He hadn't said anything after the mere comment of how disappointed he was that Draco wasn't even able to stand his own ground in a fight between friends. He wouldn't; there's too many people, but Draco doesn't understand how all these eyes on this forceful action would be any better than them hearing what had actually happened.

When they make it to the wing, Draco is surprised to see Harry there, even if only for the short time it had taken. "No. Really. I'm fine." Harry insists he doesn't need help, but after the chaos with the broom the healer apparently needed to make sure.

"It will only take but a moment. Stay still." She starts to ask him a number of questions like who the headmaster is, what nine plus eleven is, and how many fingers she had been holding up, but when she notices Harry's concerned glance at Draco she turns around and takes a step forward. "Ah. Mr. Malfoy. What can I do for you?"

"Yes." Lucius sneers a whisper at his son before pulling him further into the large room. "I need my son examined. You know, the usual things: weight, muscle mass, nutrients, and just the general basics."

She nods, "Come with me." before looking back at Harry. "You may go." Draco slowly walks forward, but with his father's harsh grip he's forced to be quicker. They move behind a pale blue curtain, and when it closes the healer asks, "Please strip down to your underwear."

Draco glances at his father for a moment, "Does he have to be in here?" He knows very well that the curtains usually contain silencing charms for patient confidentiality, but that wasn't the reason why he doesn't want his father there. _The truth is I would just hate for him to see me._

The healer looks up at Lucius, "Could you wait outside, please?" and when he leaves the healer looks back down at Draco. "Is there anything I should know about him?"

Draco rubs his wrist, "No. He's just overly concerned and has a firm hold."

She nods cautiously as she sees the reddened skin around the boy's bony wrist. "Have you been examined before?" Draco nods. "Then you know that clothes can affect the reading." He nods again, before he slowly removes the black vest, green sweater, grey tank top, and his black slacks. He's not surprised by the healer's shock. No matter how much healers have tried to not seem surprised, it seems whenever he sees one there's always a shift in their expression. She hesitates, "You are aware that bones aren't supposed to stick out like that, aren't you?"

He nods once with a frown, before he looks down at his visible hip bones. This was one of those weeks where the bone would stick out farther than his skin, but it wasn't an issue. _It happens sometimes, but it almost never lasts._ His mind wanders to the year before, more specifically the day he got ready for the pureblood event which he had eventually fainted at. His outfit had been completely black, except for the bright green tie which wrapped around his neck. The outfit itself was loose-fitting, and as Draco remembers feeling the drastic outline of his hipbone that day, he does the same now. There was way less of it showing compared to that day, as he can feel the difference, but as of this week he's had a dip in his stomach each day. He gulps, picturing the difference and knowing that it was possible to go back there, but he's not sure he wants to. Not that it matters if he doesn't want it to; there's a chance it could go back, that he could go back to that point, and that he wouldn't be able to stop it from happening. He gulps again, and when he feels tears reach his eyelashes he pulls them off with his fingers.

The healer comments, "I will need your arms by your side for the examination." Draco nods, taking a half-steady breath, as he rests his arms to his sides. He stares blankly at the wall in front of him, as the healer moves her wand in front of each of his sides. He knows what will happen. He has failed somehow. Even if he's nutritionally well, which seems to never be the case—he's always doing something wrong—his weight is just a little lower than it had been when he started school here. That much he knows, and that's how he knows he's going to earn another lecture and possible punishment from his father, this time without his mother present.

The nurse finds a piece of parchment, and after pointing at it with full concentration words appear on the paper. Draco knows what it is; it's a silent incantation, and those require a lot of focus. As he puts his clothes back on, he wishes he knew the spell himself. It would at least help him be prepared for these things. "My dear," the nurse comments with shock.

"What is it?" asks Draco, as he tries to peer over the parchment but fails to see it.

She looks at him with great concern, "You're not just underweight." She looks back at the paper, "Here it says you're really low on potassium and calcium. There also seems to be a concern for B12."

"B12," Draco exclaims. "But I eat fruit and nuts nearly every day."

The healer looks at him sadly, "Whether or not you eat it may not be the issue. By the state of things I would guess you're either not eating enough or not often enough."

Draco looks to the ground, feeling just a bit guilty, although he's not sure why. It's not like he had been doing this on purpose. _Not really, anyways._ "And how much do I weigh?"

The nurse looks at the parchment again, "Given your age and height, you should probably be weighing at least five stone seven; however, you currently weigh at four stone five."

"Damn it." Draco shakes his head and moves a hand over his face. The nurse stays quiet, so he takes a deep breath, "You can let my father in now."

"About time," Lucius complains as the healer lets him in. "Where's the information?" The old woman holds it out in front of her, before the father snatches it from her hand. Ignoring her shocked look, he reads over the information quickly, quite used to it by now, and his face becomes more and more stern and disappointed the more he reads. His eyes look down upon his son, "You've lost more than half a stone just since you've been sent here."

Draco gulps, "I know. I'm sorry." as he holds his hands together.

His father lets out a stressed breath, "You've lost nine pounds. You know what that means."

Draco looks up in horror, "No. Please. Don't."

Lucius slightly smiles, "You're low in potassium, calcium, and B12. I'll alert the headmaster that I'll be taking you out to eat. I'm thinking nine bananas, nine glasses of milk, and nine rare steaks." He shifts his head, "Let's also add nine bowls of nuts and fruits."

The healer interrupts, "Do you have any idea what a shock that would cause his body?"

"Well, I'm afraid a shock is exactly what he needs." He clutches Draco's wrist, pulls the curtain back open, and steps behind it. "You've really been most helpful, but we must go."

"But he still hasn't signed in," complains the elderly woman.

Lucius smirks, "And he won't need to." He takes out his wand, "Obliviate." and quickly shuts the curtain before rushing Draco out of the hospital wing.

Draco finds himself loosing air as he's forced to keep up with his father down the hall, but through his hard breathing he lets out word by word, "I understand you want to see me eat, Father, but does it really have to be so much. I'll get sick again."

"Nonsense." Lucius tightens the grip on his son's wrist, "We'll sit at the table for five hours if we have to." A few more minutes of running after his father's fast walking continues, before they're met with a giant statue at the end of the second floor corridor. "Dumbledore always seems to know when he has visitors. This should only take a moment. How long I will be up there is harder to tell."

When the wall opens to reveal a circular staircase, Draco's wrist is finally released as his father enters it. Draco's hard breathing still hasn't stopped, and he leans against the cold stone wall as he tries to steady it. He finds it almost hopeless, though, and he can actually hear his heart beating in his ears as he feels himself becoming more unsteady. He knows what's happening; he's unable to think, but he still understands what's going on. With the exertion of running, he was now having a hard time getting oxygen, and this feeling is just the outcome of it all. He finds himself dizzy, and he's unsure if the wall can keep him steady as he tries to shake off the sudden black flickers of his sight. "Hey. Are you okay?"

Draco feels a hand over the back of his left shoulder, and when he looks to see who it is he sees Harry. Draco leans his head back on the wall and gazes at the floor. Was he okay? No. No, he wasn't, but how could he possibly admit that? He feels himself beginning to panic, as he feels his racing heartbeat and limited breathing continue, and his mind is still void of real thoughts. All he has right now is his instinctual thought. He shakes his head and says, "It should have stopped by now." slowly and in-between a few breaths.

"Maybe you should sit down," Harry suggests. Draco nods, turns around, and slides down to the floor, all too aware of how many people are occupying this dead-end hall. He sees at least five witnesses, before he turns his head down to the side. Sitting helps, as he feels his breathing become slower and steadier, but for some reason his heart is still having a hard time getting back to a normal pace. "What happened?"

Draco shakes his head as flashes of the experience enter his mind, "I had to keep up with Father." He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, "He walks so fast, I had to run from the hospital wing."

Harry's jaw drops and his words fill with aggravated shock, "You had to run from all the way over there? That's on the fourth floor." Draco feels the need to make a jeer about how he already knows that, but unfortunately he doesn't have the breath or energy to do so. So, he just simply nods. "Where's your father now?"

Draco points to the gargoyle statue, "He's convincing Dumbledore to let me go out for the night to dinner." He looks even more away from Harry than he had been. "He didn't like my checkup report." He mumbles, "I'm always doing something wrong."

"Does Dumbledore know about… you, your condition?"

Draco huffs a laugh, "Doubt it. Father just obliviated the healer's memory. Too much risk at my reputation, I guess, for anyone to know I have a problem." His smile slips. He admitted it. He admitted that he has a problem.

"Do you need anything?" Harry asks. "Water, maybe?"

Draco shakes his head, "I'm doing a lot better now." He looks at him and finds his warm, green eyes even more relaxing and comforting, "I'm just glad you were here. I was really panicking. For a moment I didn't think it would stop, that something bad really would happen." He looks toward the floor. He knows he's revealing too much, but he can't help it.

"What, exactly, was happening? You had me worried there."

Draco swallows. His throat somehow feels both dry and wet, as his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth before he speaks, "I couldn't breathe, and my heart was racing. I got dizzy. Everything just all happened at once, and not only was my father seemingly oblivious to it but he left. He just left."

"Not to even mention it wouldn't have happened if you didn't need to run after him," Harry mumbles. He shakes his head, "Your father is a real piece of work, dragging you to the hospital wing for a checkup only to cause you all this…" He shakes his head again, this time with disapproval instead of disbelief, as many thoughts race through his mind.

It takes a moment for Draco to speak, "Don't expect me to be doing well tomorrow. I'll probably just be in bed all day."

"Why's that?"

Draco takes a stressed breath before looking back at Harry, "I lost nine pounds since I got to Hogwarts. My punishment is that I have to eat nine steaks, nine bananas, and nine bowls of fruit and nuts."

"That's your dinner?" Harry gives a worried look, "Even I wouldn't be able to finish half of that." Draco stays quiet. "I mean, it's a lot. An army could probably survive on that."

"Probably not an army," Draco slightly smiles. "But maybe a small troop."

Draco watches as Harry's eyes become bigger, as their lake color brightens with worry. "Will you be okay?"

At that moment a shadow lands over the two of them, and Lucius responds in distaste, "Draco. Why are you on the floor?"

"I—" Draco responds, but he finds himself unable to finish. It was a rule, it was an expectation, and there would be no exceptions.

"Get up from there. It's filthy. Just imagine if someone had seen you." Draco slowly stands, and when he does so the father looks at the son carefully. "You're a Malfoy, the only heir to the family name. You should be presenting yourself better."

"Yes, Father."

He hums his disapproval, "Dust yourself off and straighten your clothes. It's time to go out for dinner."

"You mean that one restaurant that costs twenty-five galleons an hour and keeps their customers in separate compartments?"

"Don't be smart with me." He places the silver head of his staff beneath Draco's chin. "It's private, exactly what we need." He sneers, "If you don't like it, then you can just stop this foolish behavior of yours."

Draco splutters, "You make it sound easy."

"That's enough out of you," Lucius seethes.

Harry watches in shock as Draco's father takes him by the ear and forces him down the hall. When they near the witnesses he switches to Draco's arm, but Draco steps away before he can. Harry watches as Draco mutters something inaudible, before he straightens his clothes and continues to walk, making sure to keep a space between him and his father as his does so. He'd be compliant, or else he'd be forced, and he'd rather have his freedom than be seen as weak. After all, if a scene would be made, he'd be to blame.


	38. Sometimes, Sometimes More

Harry is lying down on the end of his bed studying for Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall is very reasonable and a lot nicer than Snape, but in turn she does like her surprise quizzes. _She claims it's just to see how well we've gotten the concept, but I swear it's just another way to embarrass students and lower grades._

"Hey. Harry. Do you know where Draco went?"

Harry doesn't believe what he's hearing and has to actually look to believe that Goyle had asked that. "Did you just notice now?" Goyle shrugs, and Harry feels his eyebrows fall further down. "He's been gone since after the quidditch match. His father took him to a required feast as some sort of punishment."

Pike laughs, "I'd hardly call that a punishment."

Goyle yells, "Were we talking to you? No. Go mind your own business."

Harry licks his lips before placing the parchment in the book before shutting it, and he walks over to the corner where Goyle and Crabbe's beds reside. "Seriously, though, where were you when Draco needed you? Didn't I hear something about you supposed to be protecting him or something?"

Crabbe and Goyle give each other looks, before Crabbe comments, "His father comes to the games. There was no need to be around him while his father was here, and even if he weren't here, Draco likes his privacy and alone time. We figure that we're around him enough with classes, the dorm, meals, and we follow him around half of the time even if those events don't occur. We are here for him."

"Then where were you?" Harry whispers furiously. "Where were you when his father forced him to run down two or three stories and it looked like he could have died?"

Goyle's mouth drops, "We didn't know."

"Of course, you didn't," Harry interrupts. "Because you weren't there. We're all just lucky I was. He was so out of breath and panicking because it wouldn't stop. He looked so scared. I could only imagine what would have happened if no one was there for him."

"You said his father made him run?" Goyle questions.

"Yeah," Harry smiles in stressed annoyance. "Right after a very concerned trip to the hospital wing. Kind of ironic, isn't it?" Neither of them speaks, and so Harry attempts a relaxing breath although it hardly works. "To answer your question from before, Draco will be back after he finishes his nine course meal." He's surprised not to see them shocked, but even though it's apparently happened more often than Harry thought and that they clearly knew, they still don't speak. "I've got revision to do. We can talk later, I guess, when we see whether Draco survives."

* * *

Later on that night, way past curfew, Draco finally appears in the dorm. He feels hot and is too tired to change into pajamas, so he just strips down to his tank top and underwear before climbing into bed. He keeps the blanket at the end of the bed, only covering with the green sheet, and groans as he can feel the meal burning at the bottom of his throat for a way to escape.

Harry slightly yawns as his eyes flutter open, "Draco?" He lifts himself up as he sees his friend trying to get comfortable. "So, you survived."

Draco knows it was intended as a joke, but he's unable to process it as funny at the moment, "Don't get too carried away. I feel absolutely horrible."

"That bad, huh?"

Draco tries to laugh, but it comes out as a sigh, "You have no idea."

Harry nods, and after a moment of quiet he asks, "What happened earlier, does it happen often?"

"Which part?"

Harry would laugh, as of course he'd have to be more specific, but he's too worried and this is too serious, "The hall."

Draco's quiet as the memory floods back into his mind. The racing heart and lack of breath, his panic and the idea that he may not make it; it was more than he could bear. "No. It doesn't happen often."

Harry hears Blaise toss over in his sleep on the bed across from his, so he continues in a whisper, "The things that do happen, does it scare you?"

He remembers the sudden bright white that suddenly turned to black when he had fainted at the pureblood event. He thinks of the black flickers that sometimes still occur and how they don't seem to care that he's walking in a hall full of people or that he's taking a timed test, they will still happen. He admits, "Sometimes." He gulps as he remembers when he had been at his lowest weight and how his heart would sometimes misstep during that time. He gulps, "Sometimes more." as he feels his eyes sting with the threat of tears.

"What can be done to make this better?" Harry asks urgently.

Draco lets out a soft, long breath, "The main thing would be to make sure I'm getting enough nutrients and perhaps keeping my weight up, but it's harder than it sounds." He sadly laughs, "Here I thought I was doing good, eating all of the right things, only to come to find that I'm low on the vitamin B12 again."

Harry shakes his head, "I can't believe your father called you foolish. He actually made it seem like you wanted this to happen."

Suddenly Draco is reminded of the nine course meal he had, as he feels a large heaviness everywhere from his abdomen to his lower throat, "Ugh. I really don't feel well."

"Is there anything I can do?" Harry asks sincerely. "I could get you some water if you needed me to."

"No. No. Definitely not," Draco hastens. "If I drink any more fluids right now, I'll just throw up." He tries to take a relaxing breath, but all it does is remind him of how warm he feels. "It's best to just sleep it off. I should be better in the morning, if even just slightly."

Harry nods and licks the dryness from his lips, "I'll just let you sleep, then. Sleep well."

Draco attempts to laugh, "Yeah. I'll make sure to do that."

* * *

\- So, when I first started I didn't think the fanfic would be THIS well-rounded with character viewpoints, so Draco's journal probably won't hold as many spoilers as I initially thought. If you want to check it out, the current entry correlating with this fanfiction will be the entry named _Sometimes 10/11/1991_ , which gets written the day following this chapter. It won't be too descriptive right now, because Draco doesn't trust the idea of having a journal yet, but between the poems and entries it can show another side to Draco (possibly explaining why he might look a little crazy with a "sudden" change in emotion) and also fill a couple gaps that may occur in this story (or just situations that feel like there's more to it or something's missing). I hope you enjoy.


	39. The Fear

"Do you want one?"

Draco looks at the stack of chocolate chip muffins Goyle holds in his arms, as he stuffs one into his mouth, his cheeks so full his lips stay cracked open as he chews. Draco shakes his head in disgust; not just from the messiness, but also from the poor timing, "No. I have to find Harry. Do you know where he is?"

Goyle's eyebrows furrow, "Why would you ever want to find that half breed?"

Draco finds himself at a loss of words, "I just need to talk to him."

"You know what you are?" Goyle interrupts. "You're a blood traitor, and blood traitors don't deserve muffins." He turns his back on him and stumbles off.

Draco turns around as well and continues down halls, and when he makes it to the second floor he sees Dumbledore dropping a lemon drop into his mouth. He nods, "Draco."

Draco nods back, "Headmaster."

"Your father stopped by. You should know I gave him permission to take you out for dinner tonight."

Draco shakes his head, "Why should I know?"

Dumbledore smiles and peers over his half-moon spectacles, as if he knew something he wasn't supposed to, "Even the darkest night holds a light. Do remember that."

"What?" Draco questions. _That doesn't even make sense._

The headmaster places a hand on his shoulder, "You may be caught in devil's snare at the moment, but one day there will be a light and you will be freed."

Draco stills in shock as he realizes Dumbledore knows about the monster, the thing that controls him. He steps back in fear that somehow that hand-to-shoulder connection would reveal more of his secrets, and as he sees the headmaster's concern he simply mutters in a horrified whisper, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's alright, Draco," the headmaster comments softly.

Draco shakes his head as he continues to walk backwards. "No. No, it isn't," he says sternly. He shakes his head, "I need to find Harry. Where's Harry?"

"Why do you need to speak with Mr. Potter?"

Draco shakes his head, "I need his help. He's going to help me."

Dumbledore nods, seemingly in understanding, "Well, the Slytherins currently have Potions, do they not?"

"Damn it," Draco breathes, before he starts for a run down to the dungeon.

"Be careful," Dumbledore warns. "We don't need any more accidents."

Remembering how out of breath he had been from the run from the hospital wing to the headmaster's office, Draco slows his pace and opts to just speed walk to the Potions class instead. He soon finds himself entering the room, nearly breathless, and everyone's eyes are on him; everyone's but Harry's. Snape sneers, "It's about time. Everyone else have already finished their exam."

"Exam?" Draco breathes. "But that's not until end of term. That's still a month or two away."

"Nice try," Snape smirks. "Come."

Draco walks in front the class, as he makes his way to the exam table. He'd have to do it in front of everyone, but he hasn't a clue. "Ah. What do I do?"

"Well, isn't that obvious?" Draco stays quiet, so he huffs a breath and runs his hand over the ingredients, "The potion you picked out for the exam last month. You will make it from memory." He gives an accusing look, "You have studied, haven't you?"

"I, well, I mean— I thought I did."

Snape nods, "Good. You were quite ambitious picking something we hadn't done in class yet. The eye cream you picked, especially, is really advanced with the charm work involved as well, but seeing as this is a potions class you need only to worry about the potion portion."

Draco gulps. He knows which eye cream he had picked; it was the one he uses, but he doesn't know why he would pick that. It involves a lot of work, and it takes a long time to brew and cool off, not to even mention the charms. He shakes his head. _What was I thinking? You were thinking that if you could make it yourself, then your parents would be less likely to find out you still use it. After all, you're not supposed to use it, not without their permission and the knowledge it's only for public use to keep up appearances. I hate appearances. I know._

"Draco," Crabbe whispers from the front desk. "Your glamours are fading." Draco takes shallow breaths as he seizes a small mirror from his pocket, and when he opens the circle he sees the area under his eyes grow a tint darker every minute.

"What, you wear makeup now," Pike yells, and the class erupts in laughter, all except Crabbe and Goyle that is.

Draco puts the mirror away and looks at Professor Snape, whom is now leaning back in his chair with one of those red lollipops in his mouth. He snickers, "What? It is rather funny. These are the things I would expect from a girl: creams, and mirrors, and such." He pretends to cough as he sits up straighter, "But continue with the exam."

Draco gulps and he looks at all the ingredients, half of which he doesn't even know the name of. He would have to guess, just based on what he remembers from the label, and he does. After what seems like forever over that steaming, hot cauldron, his sweat seeping from his skin, he thinks he may have finished it. He feels Snape hovering over him, humming approval, and Draco feels just a little better as he lets it cool down and turn into the jelled cream. The professor pokes it with something to test its texture, "Looks good, but there's only one way to know for sure." He does some wand movements over it while saying the corresponding incantations, before he looks down at Draco with his cold, dark eyes. "Test it. If it conceals your horrid complexion, then it works. If it makes your skin burn and peel, then it doesn't."

The class begins to whisper, before he sits down and takes out his mirror again. Doing one eye, it seems to be working. So, he does the other as well, and after only a short minute he looks like himself again. Draco notices Pike whispering to Blaise, before Blaise yells, "Hey. Do you wear girly products often?"

Draco doesn't respond and just looks at Snape. "Well, it seems to have worked."

He watches as Snape heads over to his desk, "Can I leave now, then. I have finished. I did well. May I leave?"

"But class hasn't ended."

"I know," Draco asserts. "But I need to find Harry. I need to tell him something."

"Tell him what?" Professor Snape asks nonchalantly as he takes a platter of buttered sandwiches from the chest beside his desk.

Draco finds his words lost; one because he didn't really know what in the first place he was to tell Harry, and two because the sight of food always seems to distract him with anxiety and fear. He fears that someone will offer him something or that he will be forced to eat it, and the mere thought of being forced to do so makes him anxious. He tries to look back at Snape, remembering the question, "I don't know. I just need him. I need to find him."

"Well," the professor drags out, as he walks over to place the platter in front of Draco. "You're not going anywhere until you eat, so get cozy."

Draco shakes his head and stands from the table, "And if I don't?"

Snape sneers through gritted teeth, "I gave you an A. I could just as easily take it away."

Draco looks down at the variety of meats and cheeses used, before he peeks back up to see the class staring at him. "No. I can't do this." _And definitely not in front of so many people._

"Oh, and why's that?"

He swears now that the teacher is just trying to pull a confession out of him, "I just— It's messy and shows a lack of discipline."

"Oh. You think so?" Snape smiles, and Draco thinks that he must have some evil intent.

He backs away hurriedly, "Yes, I do." before he stumbles to the floor. The class laughs, and Draco then turns to run out of the room. He keeps running; he has to: he has to find Harry. By the time he finds himself out of breath, Draco stands in front of the house hourglasses. They show the points clearly, and Ravenclaw and Slytherin are currently in the lead.

"Draco?"

Draco smiles a relieved breath as he turns around and sees Harry walking towards him from the Great Hall. "I'm so glad I found you."

Harry gives a questioning look, now standing in front of him. "What's going on?" Draco's eyes widen in horror at the sight of his father marching down the dungeon staircase and towards them. "Draco. Are you okay?"

"Avada kedavra."

"No," Draco screams as Harry's body falls lifeless to the ground, and he kneels down to turn him over; however, there's no use. The brightness and warmth in his eyes have disappeared, now leaving the cold lake color Draco knows too well; Harry is in fact dead. Draco bends his head up towards his father, his teeth seething, "You said you wouldn't hurt him." as he feels salt stain his cheeks.

"Well, technically, I didn't hurt him; I only killed him. Besides, he wasn't learning fast enough, still spending all his time with that blood traitor and muggle filth."

Draco shakes his head, too many thoughts at once, "Why do you always do this? Why do you always use these curses?"

His father takes a loud, annoyed breath, "Don't be so dramatic, Draco. I only use the curses a few times a week. I don't even use them every day." Draco looks back down at Harry's lifeless form. "Dobby. Get rid of the body." He touches the black fringe of Harry's hair to move it and see more of his face, but before he can Dobby snaps his fingers and the body disappears, leaving Draco's hands falling to the floor. It couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. "Get up from there. It's filthy."

Draco takes a moment to stand, not really wanting to leave the spot he had last seen his friend, but he does so anyway and attempts to wipe the tear stains away from his face with a sleeve. Before he knows it, he's been apparated to the restaurant. "What are we doing here?"

"Come. Sit down."

Draco sees the table is filled with everything from chicken and corn to pastries and ice cream. He quickly shakes his head, "No. I don't want to."

His father takes a stressed breath, "Not this again." and he points the snake scepter at him. "Imperio." Draco gives his father an angry, disbelieving look; not that he should be in disbelief, since it's happened several times before. "Sit down and eat." Draco clutches the booth's corner, and he pushes in an attempt not to sit. "Don't fight it. The more you fight it, the more it will hurt." It does hurt. It really hurts; it's like all the nerves in his body are planning to do a specific motion and he's going against that, and there's no one to help him. "Sit," his father says through gritted teeth, and suddenly Draco feels like all his nerves are breaking in half. He has to comply, and when he does the pain disappears.

He doesn't speak. He just eats, plate after plate, and when he feels like he's going to burst and get sick at the same time he pauses. The pause is painful, as his nerves are filled with pain again, but he has to ask, "Can I take a bathroom break?"

The father looks at the three plates he's finished, along with the five glasses of milk and juice, "Yes. Take fifteen minutes to use the bathroom, but don't throw up." With this Draco becomes relieved and bothered at the same time. Even under the imperious curse the body still has to do what it has to do, and Draco knows that if he gets sick now that he's been commanded not to then he will experience enough pain to pass out. It's happened before.

After using the stall and washing his hands, Draco uses the rest of the time to wash his face and clean himself up a little. As he's about to use the mirror to correct his tie, he sees Harry in its reflection. "Hey. How are you doing?"

This was impossible. Harry was dead, wasn't he? The voice itself had sounded like it had been in front of him, and when he realizes Harry's mouth hadn't opened to speak he hums in confusion before his eyes flutter open and see Harry. He's fully dressed in his weekend attire, and he's definitely not dead. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked how you were," Harry comments as he sits on the edge of his bed.

Draco grumbles, "Miserable." He is miserable and not just for the intense nightmare, which was too confusing and weird, not to mention obsessive. He looks at the bright warmth in Harry's eyes, as he wonders why he had in fact been so keen to find Harry in his dream. _Maybe I was trying to warn him about my father, although that wouldn't account for the part where I said I needed him and his help. No. Harry can't know about it._ In any case, it's not just the nightmare making him miserable. He's also not feeling well. His stomach has settled some, but he still feels just little nauseous. He also feels warm, despite spending the night in a cold dungeon only being covered by a single sheet. He really needs to use the bathroom too, but he finds himself too sluggish: like he's been pinned to his bed by the weight of gravity. He could hold it, and he would hold it, but for some reason he thought that things would be better than this today. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine. We were just heading up to breakfast, but I wanted to see how you were first. You sounded horrible last night."

Draco attempts to laugh, "Yeah, well, I'm not feeling terribly great this morning either."

Harry's face tenses up with worry, "Is there anything I can do?"

Draco shakes his head, "No. Just enjoy the day for me. Hopefully I'll be better later." He sees Harry nod with an attempted smile, before he watches him walk past Crabbe and Goyle to begin out of the dorm; however, Crabbe isn't moving, and Draco sees his blank face staring at him in concern.

Noticing this, Goyle prompts, "Well. Aren't you coming?"

Crabbe looks from Goyle and Harry before gazing back at Draco, "No. I want to stay here and keep Draco company, make sure he's okay."

Harry nods in approval, and Goyle responds, "Suit yourself." before they head out of the dorm, now leaving it empty except, of course, for Crabbe and Draco.

Crabbe sits on the edge of his own bed, and Draco turns over to see his sad expression, "Why would you stay here just for me? You guys love breakfast, used to complain all the time that you couldn't go because I wasn't going, and now that I've said you're free to not be by me every moment of the day, what? You suddenly don't want to?"

Crabbe mumbles, "No. I just feel guilty."

"Why?"

"Well," Crabbe murmurs. "We are supposed to be keeping you safe. Granted, it was your father forcing you to run and then stuff yourself beyond full, so we probably couldn't have done anything anyway, but we should have at least been there for you."

Draco takes a big, slow breath, "You're supposed to keep me safe from physical threats, and I doubt my father would see himself as one. You're supposed to be making sure that my father's enemies don't attempt to hurt me, not worrying about my personal issues."

"Come off it. Do you honestly believe that anyone would have the guts to break into Hogwarts, manage to break into a hidden house, to then find which dorm you're in and kill you?" He nearly laughs, "You're in more danger of the ghosts here than you are of some backwards ministry judge bent on revenge."

"It's not just the people who wanted my father put away; it's also those desperate people who were hurt by You-Know-Who during the war. You know, the whole eye for an eye, a son for a son thing." Draco shakes his head. "My father may be a bit paranoid, but he has very valid reasons to be. And it's your guys' job to make sure the most desperate don't hurt me."

Crabbe is quiet for a moment, "We know that, but we are concerned about you just in general too. Those desperate people aren't going to get a chance to get to you if you or your father gets to you first." He looks away for a second. "Really, though. Are you okay?"

Draco huffs, "Are you asking me if I feel okay with myself, or are you asking if I'm okay after a long night of being cursed into eating what felt to be at least twice my weight?"

Crabbe pauses, "Either."

"No," Draco simply states, before he stands from his bed and pulls some clothes from his drawers, sneaking the measuring tape as he does so. "I should shower off the grease. I'll be out in a little while."

Crabbe watches Draco head towards the bathroom, "When you return I'll have the chess game set up."

Draco looks at his friend in blank confusion, "You never play chess with me."

He shrugs, "I said I would spend the morning with you. I meant it." Draco doesn't respond. "Besides, maybe winning a few games will make you feel better."

Draco smiles, "Have it your way, then. I'll be out in thirty."

* * *

\- I apologize for this chapter being so long, or at least longer than my average chapter, but in the end I feel it was worth it. Who wouldn't want to see all of Draco's fears wrapped up into one nightmare? I am sad to say that I did actually write another Draco nightmare, which I find to be really good as well, but that it probably won't be able to be used until around The Order of the Phoenix (assuming I get there). Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Personally, my favorite parts were when Goyle said blood traitors don't deserve muffins and when Dumbledore compared Draco's problem with devil's snare (I really do hope I spelled that correctly.) My least favorite part in this has to be Harry's temporary death, but between Draco's fear of losing his friends and the knowledge of what his father is capable of I deemed it necessary. Feel free to let me know what your guys' favorite and least favorite parts were, and make sure to include the reasons why. There have been many times where I just hate what I write, but it's not due to bad plot or characterization; usually it's just that I hate the character has to go through it or that the topic itself it a sensitive one. So, that being said, the reason behind your likes and dislikes are important. I hope your having a nice day/night. I'll try to start writing/posting more often again.


	40. Arrogance is Bliss

Harry sees Hermione wave from a rectangular table, which is more like one of those long double-desks used in Potions and a couple other classes. The table is seated at the back wall of the library behind the bookcases, and when Harry walks down an isle to reach the table he notices Ron is there too. He smiles for a second, "Hey."

"Hey."

After the moment of acknowledgment is over, Ron stares back down at the book and Harry looks over at Hermione. She comments, "He's helping out. I hope you don't mind."

Harry shakes his head, "No. I don't." He looks back at Ron, "I just didn't think he would. I mean, you don't exactly like me, do you?"

Ron sniggers, "Just because you gave me a few tips for class doesn't mean we're suddenly pals, so don't go getting a big head."

"I wasn't."

He interrupts, "No. I'm just doing this because Snape almost killed you, and I don't want someone like that being my teacher. I mean, what if he were wanting to kill me?"

"Aren't you forgetting the priority, Ron?" Hermione reminds him, "We can't let him get whatever that dog's guarding."

"Right. Right," Ron mumbles. "I've got it, but I can fear for my own safety, can't I?"

Hermione takes a deep breath, "Yes. You can fear for your own safety, Ronald."

"Ronald?" Harry questions as he look at Ron with a raised eyebrow and a cornered smirk.

"What are you smilin' about? It just so happens to be one of our many family names." His defensiveness turns into sheepishness, as he turns to look back at Hermione, "But I do prefer to be called just Ron."

She smiles as she flips through a page of the large book in front of her, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with us."

Ron looks at Harry for a mere second, muttering, "Doubt it." as he looks down at his own book, but he seems to change his mind, wanting to do anything but read. "What was going on with you and Malfoy yesterday, anyway?"

"What do you mean?" asks Harry, knowing that it didn't matter which part of yesterday he was talking about. He still wouldn't be able to say anything.

"On the field." Ron explains, "He must have made you really angry for you to push him like that."

"Oh," Harry comments, seeing a book in the center of the table and grabbing it for himself. "That's private."

"Private?" Ron exasperates. Harry doesn't say anything, but he can feel Hermione's concern as he senses her eyes on his left. "How was that private, when you pushed him down in front of everyone like that?" He smiles and tries to suppress a laugh, "Not that it wasn't good. It was really good." Hermione darts her eyes at him, and he continues without the smile. "But he had to have done something to deserve that shove."

Harry shakes his head before taking a stressful breath, "It was nothing." He looks up and still sees Ron staring at him, so he shrugs. "He was just being," he pauses. "Draco." Ron looks confused, but all Harry can do is turn the page without reading it, speaking without looking up, "The Slytherin team has high expectations." He hesitates, remembering the little effort it had actually taken to push Draco down, but it doesn't matter. He couldn't betray him, make him look weak; he'd have to take the blame if anyone asked. "I just wanted to make sure that he knew that if he was ever _really_ sick that he didn't have to play, but he just said he'd play until he was dead." He shakes his head, readying a truthful excuse why he would have pushed Draco so hard, "I guess I just got angry, because he clearly cares more about his reputation than his health."

Harry ignores Ron's gloating, justified expression, when Hermione comments in her usual clinical tone. Some people would say she's just a walking textbook without real emotion, but Harry knows her well enough to know that her logical side just unintentionally hides how much she does care about literally everything and that the hesitance she gives at this moment is proof of that. "How is he doing, by the way?"

Harry licks his lips, staring down at the textbook, before he glances at Ron and turns back to her, "Not too well." His eyes find the table again, "His father took him out to a feast last night. He's not feeling well."

"What, was it food poisoning?" Ron questions, but Harry can hear the slight happiness in his voice.

"Something like that," Harry mumbles.

Ron crosses his arms, smirking as he leans back in his chair, "Good. He deserves every moment of it."

Hermione's jaw drops and she's about to speak, but before she can Harry's eyes furrow at Ron, "How? How does he deserve it? Tell me."

Ron sits up straighter, "Because he's just so arrogant and full of himself. He brags about how well he's doing in class, shows off some of those gifts his father sends him. You know, I hear that he gets homemade food sent to him every week? He's got to be the luckiest bastard on the planet."

Harry just stares at Ron in furry, his fists clenched, trying very hard not to say just how unlucky his friend is. "So, what? You think he deserves to be sick, just because he gets sent food and you think he's lucky?"

"No," Ron snarls. "He deserves what's coming to him, because he's arrogant and selfish, he thinks he so much better than everyone else just because he does perfectly in class and is on the quidditch team as a first year, and because his family never did their time for serving You-Know-Who during the war."

Harry's expression softens from confusion, but he still feels the need to tell Ron off, "He doesn't think of himself so highly; that's just an act and attempt for approval, and the last thing he does need is for someone like you to pull the floor out from under him."

"Someone like me?" Ron bellows. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry shuts the book and asks a sad Hermione, "Have you looked through this one yet?" She merely shakes her head. "Okay. I'll check it out, then." He's about to leave, but it's only after a few steps that the burning anger forces him to turn around, "You say Draco is arrogant? Why don't you take a look in the mirror, because I swear the only person you care about is poor, pitiful Ronald Weasley. I wonder if you even care about your family."

Hermione comments, "Are you sure you really want to egg him on like that?"

"Yes." Harry smirks, his eyebrows still furrowed with fiery, "Because he deserves it. Just as much as Draco does." He takes a step back, "Which he doesn't." before he turns around to head to the front desk, check out the book on modern wizard extraordinaires, and heads out of the library.

Meanwhile, Hermione sits with her arms crossed, and Ron notices her disapproving look, "What? It's not like I did anything wrong."

"Why? Because you're a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors are so much better than Slytherins?"

"Yes, exactly."

Hermione shakes her head, "I think you might be even more full of it than Draco."

Ron gives a look of disbelief, "What? You're calling that monster by his first name now?" Hermione doesn't respond. "No," Ron assures. "He's the arrogant one, with his fancy, little quills, with his special charmed clothing, with that all-powerful father of his still having more authority and respect than even Dumbledore and after all the horrible things he has done."

Hermione shakes her head, "You're so pigheaded, I don't even believe you." before she shuts the book and stands. "It's such a nice day. I think I'll go outside to study. You— you feel welcome to just stay here and work on your Potion's packet or something."


	41. Curses and Juices

- **Trigger Warning for Part 2 of Chapter (There will be a break)** for eating disorders. A character tries to cleanse their body by drinking juice. I should mention that even though the character focuses more on the antioxidant properties that prunes provide... and that some people might not see a difference in between the affects of antioxidants and laxatives, since prunes do have laxative properties it's not a good idea to abuse the drink. I don't know if the drink is any better than the pills out there (I should mention I have **n't** tried any of these), but articles say that depending on the type of laxative it could stop the person's system from functioning properly and therefore make the person even more dependent on the use of them. For people with EDs this is twice as bad, since bloating is an apparent side-affect when the system does stop working right. Please try to find other methods to lose weight if you really have to, as laxatives will only make the food pass through quicker and won't prevent the consumption of calories, and for those who only abuse laxatives/purge out of anxiety I recommend to talk to someone or if you think you can't at least express yourself through the arts (art, music, writing, etc).

* * *

When Harry gets back to the dorm he sees Draco playing chess with Crabbe. Beyond the two, Goyle lays on his bed staring down at the _History of Magic_ text book. Harry stares for a moment, realizing just how often he sees Goyle doing homework or reading and yet his grades aren't terribly great and the book, which is apparently read for leisure, hasn't seemed to make much progress. "What's that?"

At hearing Draco's voice, Harry promptly looks away from Goyle and glances down at the book in his hand. "Oh." Harry looks up and sees his friend's even look, "Hermione and I are kind of working on a project."

"For which class?"

Harry's mind goes blank with dubiousness. Draco is his partner in every class that requires one, and it's not like the Slytherins and Gryffindors have a lot of classes together. He surely knows this. _What's he trying to do, catch me in a lie? And for what? It's not like I'm betraying him by spending time with her. Am I?_ "It's more of a personal project. She told me she was researching something Dumbledore accomplished with some famous wizard. I thought it would be interesting, so I'm helping her." He hears Draco hum in uncertainty as he stares back down at the chessboard and makes a move. "I wouldn't have been with her today," Harry assures. "But I had already made the plans before you weren't feeling well."

"It doesn't matter," Draco mumbles. "I'm feeling better now, anyway."

"Are you, really?" Harry asks as he takes a few steps forward.

Draco laugh, "No." and moves another piece. "But I'll have to be. We still have quidditch practice, and even though our games are over for the season I just can't miss them."

"You don't have to go." Harry mumbles in thought. "I could tell him you're sick. Food poisoning or something."

Draco slightly smiles, "You don't have to do that. I'm going, whether I want to or not."

"You shouldn't have to."

"But I am," Draco interrupts. "Even if the captain were nice enough to let me loose for one practice, I can't risk falling behind. I won't have it."

"Draco," Harry hesitates. "With all the extra practice you have already done—" He pauses. "If anything you're ahead. One practice won't change that."

"That's where you wrong." He makes one move and wins the game. "One hour, even one minute, can change everything." Harry doesn't speak; he can't argue with that logic. "Come. Play a game with me."

Harry sits down in place of Crabbe, and there's silence as they begin to set back up the game. It's then Harry remembers what Ron had said, and he can't help but wonder if it's true. He hesitates, "Ron was also in the library with Hermione and me, for a short while."

"Was he?" Draco inquires with disapproval.

"He said some things." Draco looks up, and then Harry whispers, "Did your family really serve You-Know-Who during the war?"

"The official story," Draco mutters. "Is that my family only followed his orders while under the imperious curse."

Harry watches Draco make the first move, "And the unofficial story?" He couldn't believe it. Was it actually possible that his friend, his friend's family, could have done such a horrible thing and all the guilt-ridden things that would have gone along with it?

Draco looks around the somewhat empty dorm before whispering, "Do you want to know a secret?" He sees a glance from Crabbe but ignores it.

"What is it?" Harry asks, a bit fearful and rightfully so. Draco motions for him to come a little closer, and when he does his friend whispers.

"You don't always need to use a curse to make someone do your bidding. Sometimes the old-fashioned need for survival is good enough."

"So, they weren't cursed."

Draco looks around, paranoid; he'd have to be to search for witnesses when the only people currently in the dorm are people who already know this. "No, but they were threatened. He saw how much my parents cared about each other and used that, and when I came to be it was then my life on the line." He looks away for a moment, "I would like to believe they wouldn't have done anything if they weren't threatened, but…"

"But," Harry prompts.

Draco looks up, "Sometimes I wonder if they would have gotten into that mess had they not been looking for ways to survive." He shakes his head, "I mean, like a lot of members of the pureblood community they do whatever they can to have the best job and livelihood, but they also work a lot with the dark arts and ancient relics."

"And you think they could have stayed out of it all if they didn't get into all that stuff."

It wasn't a question, but Draco nods, "It's not that they dabbled with it, it's just where and who they would resort to find those things. They made a lot of friends and had a lot of dealings with people they probably shouldn't have." He solemnly laughs, "Half of which probably want us all dead by now." but then he freezes. Seeing Harry's shock, he looks back down at the chess board and makes a move, "I've said too much. Just forget it. Forget it all."

"Draco." Harry questions, "Are you really in danger?"

Draco tries to smile, "Don't worry about it, Potter. Like my lovely friends slash guards have told me before, this is Hogwarts; I'm more of a danger to myself than anyone else could possibly be to me while I'm here." He looks back down at the game, "Whose turn is it?"

Harry looks down at the board, "Mine. I think you actually went twice."

"Oh." Draco pauses, feeling a little stupid and foolish, "Take two turns then."

Harry nods, and after his turn he asks, "That other school, the one your father was going to send you to, was it safer?"

It takes a little while for Draco to answer, "Probably. They actually allow The Dark Arts to be taught there, and I don't know how we're supposed to properly learn Defense Against the Dark Arts here when we don't even know what The Dark Arts look like." He moves his rook, "It's like learning to write without learning to read. It doesn't make sense."

Once again Harry can't argue with the logic, but he still questions, "If having The Dark Arts helps to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts, then why doesn't Hogwarts have it?"

Draco laughs, "Because no matter how great Hogwarts is portrayed, it's still just a school whose bottom line is to keep students sheltered from danger instead of learning proper attack and defense measures and getting good experience." After Harry makes a move he makes his own, "I bet that by the time our year graduates half of the students will have died."

Harry feels unsettled by Draco's coldness to the subject, but he knows he's not trying to be mean. In a way, he actually has a point, not that Harry agrees with it, "I think it's wise to keep students safe, at least until we've learned enough to protect ourselves." Draco doesn't speak. Clearly, he disagrees. "I'd just like to survive until graduation and not die as result of some teaching method."

"I'm sure The Dark Arts class doesn't go that far. If I remember correctly they just use students who've gotten detention for their practice, so the school also teaches responsibility. Plus, the unforgivable curses are forbidden to be taught directly in a classroom, considering that they're illegal and all."

"The unforgivable curses?"

"They're three curses considered unforgivable," Draco explains. "The killing curse, the torture curse, and the—" He gulps and takes an unsteady breath, "And, um, the imperious curse, a curse that makes someone do your bidding lest they want to experience excruciating pain."

Harry had seen Draco gulp as he mentioned the last one, "Draco." He hesitates, "Did Vol- You-Know-Who ever use the curse on you?"

"What? No. Of course, not. Why?"

"Well," Harry drags out. "He is known for it, and you just seemed kind of— I don't know— stressed, nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Draco denies before moving a piece. "Anyway, it never got that far. I told you. He got what he wanted from my parents merely just by threatening our lives."

"Well, why then are you getting so defensive?"

"I'm not getting defensive," Draco nearly shouts, and soon after he sees multiple sets of doubtful eyes staring back at him. He pretends to cough before standing up, "I have to go for a walk." He turns around to leave. "See you at practice."

* * *

That night at dinner the table is very quiet. There was no time to talk to Draco during practice, but even Crabbe and Goyle showed up to watch and see how Draco had been faring; however, even so, no one seemed to know what to say. Finally, seeing the lack of anything on Draco's plate, Harry comments through a bite of chicken, "Are you not having anything?"

It's not like Draco wasn't having anything. He was drinking juice and a lot of it, but he still doesn't feel up to solids. He feels like after everything he had the night prior that if he did get anything in his mouth at the moment, then he'd gag or worse. Even the smell was nauseating him. Not to mention that when he had tried to use the measuring tape that morning that it had been useless; he was clearly bloated, probably because some of the food didn't digest well, and he wasn't about to shove more into his stomach when it seemed like there was food already stuck there. _But juice should help with that. It usually does._ He looks around at his options. He had already started off with the orange. The apple has too much sugar to prove useful, but luckily the school serves a very nice pumpkin and prune juice blend. He smiles as he pours himself a glass. _Pumpkin has fiber and prunes are an antioxidant. This has to be the perfect blend. A few glasses of this should clear everything up just fine._

"Draco. What are you doing?" Goyle speculates.

Crabbe cringes his nose and mumbles, "Why does the school even serve that stuff?"

Goyle whispers, "I don't know." before addressing his friend again. "Draco?"

"Hmm." Draco looks up, "What?"

Goyle shakes his head, "What are you doing?"

Draco smiles innocently, "I'm having juice."

"Yeah, and it has to be the most disgusting one on the table."

Draco just smirks as he takes the last drink of his first glass, and he pours more into it. "Well, I like it."

"Yeah. And we know why." Draco slides his eyes over to see tense looks on his friends' faces, before he shrugs it off and gulps down the entire second glass before refilling it again. "Why are you doing this? You didn't even eat anything. It's not going to do anything."

Harry interrupts, "Sorry. Am I missing something?"

"No," Crabbe and Goyle say at the same time, leaving Harry to slide back to the end of his seat as the conversation continues. He's not stupid. He knows something is going on, but it's been made clear that he's not meant to get involved, so he preoccupies himself with his meal.

After a couple minutes Draco excuses himself to the bathroom and Crabbe murmurs, "Should we tell his father?"

Goyle shakes his head, a hand to his forehead, "He does this kind of thing more after…" He looks at Harry before continuing to Crabbe, "Punishments. If we tell his father it could just make things worse."

Crabbe merely nods in response, and Harry is left feeling more confused as ever as silence imbeds their part of the table. He's not going to ask any questions. He's learned well enough by now not to involve himself in matters that don't concern him. But doesn't this concern him? Draco is his friend after all. He looks up at Draco's other two friends. No, he decides as he continues with his smashed potatoes. It's not his business. _It probably has to do with Draco's… illness?_ He still isn't sure of what to call it, but he knows that if anyone would know how to approach Draco on that topic it would be the friends who've known him his entire life and not the boy from the muggle world, not the boy with a scar left by evil.

After Harry finishes his meal he looks at the entrance to the hall, "Where's Draco. Did he leave back to the dorm already?"

Crabbe finishes a brownie, crumbs stuck to his mouth, as Goyle answers, "He's likely still in the bathroom." He pauses, staring down at his plate. "He likes his privacy, uses one of the farther ones."

"Oh," Harry comments, his mind a bit blank but filled with questions.

Goyle reassures, "He will be back at the dorm before curfew. Don't worry."

Soon enough the plates are cleared, and after Dumbledore gives a few reminders about the forbidden corridor and forest, along with the recent house achievements from Lavender Brown and Hannah Abbot for having had assisted the Herbology teacher out of class on a regular basis and without prompt, the students are ready to clear out of the hall.

The way to the dungeons is quite tedious, as they actually have to climb stairs before heading on down to the dormitory. Harry supposes it's just because there are more rooms on the main floor, but he has a feeling whoever designed the castle and its stairways just wanted to see people miserable and confused. This is often the case, as Slytherins and students in general don't know whether to say go up or go down to the dungeon when discussing their classes or dorm in the Great Hall.

When they do reach the dorm Harry finds that Goyle was right. Draco is lying on his bed, the covers over him, as he works on the scroll for History. He doesn't acknowledge them; in fact, Harry could swear that he had actually written more busily as they came in, but all in all Draco seemed to be just fine and Harry wasn't going to mess with that. Thinking on it, he has his own homework to do as well, and aside from their less acquainted dorm mates that night becomes a real quiet and nice time to work.


	42. Quidditch Logic and Pureblood Politics

"Hey. So, I just thought of something."

Draco hums, "What?" as they watch the Gryffindors demolishing the Hufflepuff quidditch team.

"So, so far Slytherin has two wins, Ravenclaw has two wins, Hufflepuff can't win the cup because they've already lost against us, and if Ravenclaw doesn't win against Gryffindor then Gryffindor will also have two wins. If that happens, who wins?"

Draco shrugs in annoyance, "I don't know. Knowing this school, the headmaster will probably just say everyone wins. Stamp the school crest onto the cup or something."

"And why is Hufflepuff even playing this game, if they have no chance to win the quidditch cup," Harry questions.

"The points earned in the quidditch games are added to the house points," Draco reminds him, and then the announcer loudly interrupts with the score count.

"But we can't have a three-way tie," Harry complains. "Why don't we have an extra game or two to determine a final winner?"

"Well, that wouldn't be fair, would it?" Draco responds in a sweet, sarcastic way. "If someone were to earn an extra game, then they would have an extra opportunity to get more points for their house."

Harry shakes his head, "It just doesn't make sense. Why even try to win when you've already lost the cup or when it's so likely to end in a tie?"

Crabbe comments, "Those girls seem to have the right idea."

Harry notices a couple of the Hufflepuff Chasers just floating in one spot, talking to each other and completely oblivious to the game. The Beaters don't have that luxury, as they still need to defend their players from the dangerous bludgers, but they seem to feel just as bored, useless, and disappointed. "This isn't right. What happened to quidditch being fun and exciting?" He looks around and sees that even the spectators seemed to have their minds somewhere else, and in the higher stand where teachers have the option to sit, he can see several of them practically ignoring the game and just speaking to each other.

Goyle answers Harry's question after it appears Draco is too distracted to, "You know what I reckon happened?" Harry looks at him. "Fairness. When people focus so much on fairness, there's no longer any competition or opportunity to do better."

Harry shakes his head, "We've got to change that, at least for these games." He sees Goyle nod in agreement, but he becomes distracted when he sees an auburn haired girl kneeling by the edge of their bench. She smiles excitedly at Draco, giving his shoulder a playful shove, "Hey. Guess what day it is?"

"Saturday," Draco mumbles. The girl's presence seems to annoy him, and Harry can't help but wonder where Draco knew her from.

"Oh. You're so funny," the girl comments sweetly. "No. Well, yes, but no." Her pitch is raised as her grin widens, "It's my little sister's birthday."

Draco gives a semi-shocked look, "That was today?"

The Slytherin girl places a hand on where her waist would be had she been fully developed, but considering that Harry recognizes her from their classes that isn't the case. "Don't tell me you forgot." Draco doesn't respond and merely just continues to frown. "Ugh," her mouth gapes, before she hits his shoulder with the back of her hand. "You so did."

Goyle interrupts, "No, he didn't, actually." He pretends to cough to buy a moment. "Like you said, he's just being funny."

Draco tries to smile, "Yeah. Don't worry. I have her gift picked out and wrapped and everything. I'll give it to you at dinner, so you can send it for me." He raises an eyebrow, "You do have your own owl, don't you?"

She laughs, "Of course I do."

"Good," Draco responds evenly, but Harry recognizes the mild stress in his tone. "Because I don't. Not yet, anyway."

She shrugs, "Well, don't worry about it. I'd be happy to send it for you. Well, actually, I'd be doing it for my sister, but you get the point."

"Yeah. I do," Draco forces a smile, very eager for her to go away.

"Okay, then." She stands up, "See you later." and waves by bending her fingers before she goes back up to where she had been sitting before.

When Draco looks back at the guys he sees Harry's dumbfounded expression. "Who was that and how in the world do you two know each other?"

As Draco stays quiet, Goyle replies, "That was Daphne Greengrass. She's part of the community."

Harry had turned to see Goyle, but then Draco comments, "It's just pureblood politics." and Harry has to turn back towards him. "It's nothing for you to worry about."

"Oh. Okay," Harry meekly replies, and he stares out at the field for a moment before asking, "So, you're not dating her or anything?"

"Ulk. No. Definitely not," Draco answers without thinking. He sees Crabbe and Goyle trying to stifle a laugh, "What? Don't tell me you'd want to date her." Goyle raises an eyebrow. "She's just so sickly nice," Draco explains. "And she's too touchy, and her voice is so annoying." He shakes his head and crosses his arms, "And her sister is even worse. At least Daphne is ruff and sometimes cool. With Astoria it's always 'Do you like this dress I'm wearing', 'I don't want to go outside', or 'Why are you being so mean to me'." He shakes his head, "There isn't even any dirt outside; it's all stone and tile, and there are charms set to control our property's climate. She's just such a wuss. I'm surprised she isn't fat. If she had her way she'd be carried everywhere she went."

Goyle comments, "Don't you think you're being a little hard on her? She is only nine years old."

"Ten," Draco corrects. "As of today she's ten years old. That's only a year younger than me. I'm just lucky I won't have to see her here for another two years, since her birthday is after the start date."

"I don't see what you're complaining about," retorts Goyle. "I think the Greengrass girls are pretty and nice." Crabbe nods in agreement. "You're a lucky guy."

"So people keep saying," Draco grumbles as he slouches into his hands, but then he remembers himself and straightens his back, slides the elbows off his knees to replace them with his arms, and he rests like that instead. Of course, it's not as restful as he would like, but it's more appropriate and that's all that matters.

Goyle smiles, "You know, don't worry about it. I bet within the next couple years you'll find girls more interesting and tolerable. The fact that they just annoy you right now isn't that big of a deal."

Crabbe adds, "Actually, it may be a good thing."

Goyle nods in agreement and laughs, "Hey. I remember a couple years ago I kind of found this one girl fascinating. Didn't know what to do, so I thought the best thing would be to follow her around with a garden snake."

Harry smiles and exclaims, "A snake?"

Goyle can't help but smile, "Yeah. Let's just say, it got her attention."

Draco shakes his head, before he turns to look at the three of them, "You've had an interest in girls for how many years now." It really wasn't a question, and they just look at him as he sighs in stress. "Why don't I? Why do I still just think they're so annoying?"

When neither Crabbe nor Goyle have an answer Harry suggests, "Maybe you've just been too busy. I haven't really found an interest in girls either. I'll talk to them, but I haven't actually had a crush." He looks to the floor, "Or at least I don't think I have. I suppose I've been locked away so long that I wouldn't really know if I had a crush on someone even if I did."

"See," Goyle interrupts. "We're still young. Some of us aren't going to find girls that interesting right now, but naturally it will happen eventually."

"Right," Draco mumbles again. _I suppose it does make sense. Between trying to impress my father and my personal problems I have been busy, and if Harry hasn't had any crushes yet then it's not that odd that I don't either._ He looks back at Harry and smiles. _He's such a good friend._

Goyle asks, "So, what are you giving Astoria for her birthday?"

Draco's smile falters, "I don't know." He pauses. "I suppose I have some unopened ink bottles and some nice quills I could give her." He sees his friend's unsureness. "I could add a note, say that I know she could do so much better and that she should get ahead while she can."

"So, you're going to insult her magical ability?" Goyle questions.

"No," Draco assures. "I'm just going to say that if she wants to do well at Hogwarts, then it would be good for her to start studying now."

"So, you are insulting her magical ability," Crabbe answers.

At hearing Draco take a stressed breath, Goyle comments, "It's only been in the last couple centuries that girls were started to be allowed to practice anything other than household magic. You should really just pick something else. How about flowers? Girls love flowers."

Draco huffs, "And deliver them by owl? I don't know any freezing or inanimation spells. They would probably die or wither by the time they got to her."

"It's a shame," comments Crabbe. "Frosted flowers are a popular choice."

Harry asks, "What about chocolates?"

Draco shakes his head, "I'd have to take them from the Great Hall, and I said the present was already wrapped."

Goyle comments, "How about you just write her a poem, maybe send her a quill and some ink with it too."

Harry's mouth gapes open as his eyebrows rise, "You write poetry?"

When Draco doesn't answer Goyle merely comments, "It's better than nothing."

Draco lets out a big breath, "I suppose it's worth a shot." but he has no idea what he's supposed to even write about, much less which format to fit it in.

Harry slightly laughs, "You know, with the whole romantic tragedy thing we talked about earlier this year I just thought you were making conversation, but you really are a romantic, aren't you?"

Draco slightly smiles, "I like love, because it shows an aspect of loyalty." but then he shrugs in unsureness. "I prefer tragedy, because happiness is just so unrealistic."

"You think so?" asks Harry.

Draco looks at him for a moment, "When do you remember being most happy?"

Harry shrugs, "I suppose when I got my letter."

"And before then?" Draco questions.

Harry pauses and his smile falls even further, "I guess, I wasn't."

Draco nods, "Happiness is rare." and stares out at the field. "That's why it's so powerful, but I believe that what impacts us the most— the hurt, the emptiness, the sadness— because we experience more of it, it is what will change us and is therefore even more powerful than happiness… love and tragedy are two sides of the same coin... that's what makes them so great."

Harry tries to smile, but the conversation has made him sad with understanding, "You're really going to love the book."

Draco sadly smiles, "I bet I will."


	43. The Present

After the match Draco goes back to the dorm in attempt to write the poem for Astoria, but after several minutes he still has no idea of where to even start. _Maybe write down things about her? Her appearance and personality, maybe?_ He begins a list. _Dark brown hair, fair skin… What color are her eyes?_ He sits up to see over Crabbe and addresses Goyle, "Hey. Do you know what color Astoria's eyes are?"

Goyle gives him a stupendous look, "They're green."

"Are you sure?" _That can't be right…_

"Of course, I'm sure," comments Goyle. "What's wrong with you? I thought green was your favorite color."

"It is," assures Draco, glad Crabbe and Goyle are the only other two in the dorm right now, but then he remembers Harry is with that mudblood Granger and suddenly he changes his mind. It would be better if Harry had been there with them too.

"Well, her eyes are green."

Draco shakes himself from his thoughts, "What shade are they? Emerald, jade, like grass, like leaves, perhaps a lake?" and then he's reminded of Harry's eyes. He shakes his head, feeling so stupid. How was it that he was able to go into such detail when describing Harry's eyes, but he can't come up with a single detail for the eyes of the girl he's supposed to be engaged to? He huffs in frustration and defeat. _I must be broken._

Goyle answers, "Her eyes are dark green like leaves from a shrub."

Draco nods, "Okay." as he writes it down.

"Anything else I can help with?" Goyle asks.

"Yeah, actually." Draco looks up, "What do you like about her?"

"You're not serious," Goyle responds in shock, but after Draco just sits timidly, his head down, it's clear he is serious. "I like her confidence and tendency to be happy. I like her laugh. I like how when she's upset or pouts she just looks so innocent, and when she smiles she reflects everything that's terrible and sad into something good."

Draco stops writing, "Merlin. Why are we even doing this?"

"So you have a birthday present for Astoria," answers Crabbe.

"No. Not that," responds Draco angrily. "This," he gestures around the entire vicinity, before he points his hand out to Goyle. "Why don't you just marry her? You seem to like her enough."

"But then who would you marry?" questions Goyle.

Draco lets out a long breath, "I don't know."

"The Malfoys are the richest and most respected house of the pureblood community. As result you get married off to the best lady, and Greengrass girls are just that."

"I know," Draco grumbles in frustration, before he tosses the parchment, quill, and book to the side.

Goyle smiles, "Do you need me to do it for you?"

Draco gasps, "Would you?" in astonishment.

His eyebrows rise in questioning shock, "I was joking."

"No. It's perfect," Draco insists. "You like her, or at least you see her in a good way. Just write a letter or poem as if you were sending it to her."

"You know he can't," Crabbe inserts.

Draco shakes his head, "Well, he speaks well enough." He pleads to Goyle, "Can you at least tell me what to write?"

Goyle lets out a breath, "You really don't know what to write, do you?" Draco doesn't speak. "Alright. Get out your quill." Draco smiles, puts the textbook on his lap, places some new parchment over it, and begins to write as his friend speaks. "Dear, Astoria. As I sit in this cold dungeon I'm reminded of your warm smile and summer green eyes. Right now I imagine your birthday is going swell, as you sit at a table filled with gifts and your cup full with tea. I so wish I could be there, but sadly I cannot. I'm sorry for this, and I apologize for not getting this to you sooner. I've just been very busy and have no owl, so I hope you'll forgive me.

"Here at Hogwarts things can be crazy with the confusing staircases and class schedules, but there are good aspects to it too. As you know, each student gets sorted into their own house, and this makes it easier to find people one can relate to. Every other Saturday we've been outside to watches quidditch matches, and in the Great Hall we're served more food than you could even imagine. The castle itself is cleaner than I could have hoped. I just know you would love it here."

Draco pauses, "Are you sure she'll be convinced it came from me?"

"That depends," Goyle insinuates. "Does she know about your problem?"

"What? You mean the eating thing?" They just give him a look. "No. Of course, not. Father couldn't let anyone find out, could he? Had to blame the whole fainting incident from last year on some flu."

"Good," Goyle says. "Then she'll be utterly convinced.

"But since when am I this nice to her, and since when do I apologize three times in the span of five seconds?"

Crabbe mumbles, "I thought the object was for her to think you thought of her as anything other than annoying."

"Well, yes."

"Then let me help you," comments Goyle sternly.

Draco shakes his head and licks the inside of his lips, "Alright. What's next?"

Goyle continues, "I hope your days are filled with the happiness your smile provides, even in the saddest or darkest moments your nights may comprise. Here on your birthday I wish you health, wealth, and for you to never be touched by death, whether it be you or those you care for. May the Fates never cut your string and in place make it gold, so your life may fill with joy and never be breached by the darkness of our world. I hope this day has been as good to you as you have been to it. Sincerely yours, Draco Malfoy."

"Seriously?" asks Draco.

"Well, you are engaged."

Draco shrugs, before he finishes and then adds to it. _PS: Here in lays a quill to write your own story._ He looks through the many quills he owns, before he finds a barely used one. The feather is that of a phoenix, the tip small, and the metal placed over the feather's stem had been engraved with vines and flowers. It was perfect. _Almost too perfect._ He doesn't want to give it away, but it seems to be the best and most appropriate gift he could give to his bride-to-be. He shakes his head has he finds something to package it with. _Why do we have to think of this so young? Why couldn't we have been paired off at thirteen or something? That would have been better, wouldn't it have?_

"Looks like you're all set."

"Yeah," Draco mumbles with a frown.

Crabbe comments, "Now all you have to do is come to dinner." and suddenly Draco looks him. "You are coming, aren't you?"

Draco huffs a laugh, "Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

Crabbe hesitates, "Well, you normally just grab some beef jerky and head to the field."

"It's off season for the Slythin team," Draco retorts.

"Like that's ever stopped you before," Goyle responds.

Draco falls silent for a minute before looking at the clock, "Oh. Look at that. I've better head off to practice." and he stands up.

Goyle comments, "Slytherin practices have been cancelled, remember. The other teams have priority now, and they've booked the field."

Draco comments, "I really don't care." as he walks out of the dorm, heading to the library instead.


	44. Cover Ups

"Muggle Psychological Disorders in the Wizard World." Draco turns from the bookcase he had been reading in front of and sees the girl Harry spends so much time with. "I hear that book gets checked out a lot for Advanced Muggle Studies. I'm surprised a pureblood like you would have an interest in it."

Draco sneers, "Clearly you didn't read the title. It's talking about occurrences in the wizard world."

"Still pretty advanced for a first year."

Draco sees the large, red leather book Hermione's holding. The title reads _Hogwarts Headmasters to Date._ "I could say the same thing about you, Granger."

Hermione holds up the book, "Really?" Draco nods. "I'm just skimming it for information, doing a bit of light reading."

Draco smirks, "I never thought you to be one to take shortcuts."

Hermione laughs a smile, "And you honestly expect me to believe you're reading all that?" She gestures to the book.

"I read what I can." Draco explains, "Slytherins aren't like Gryffindors. We aren't so reckless has to have constant physical injuries. If there's something wrong with us, it tends to be in the mind."

"Oh. I don't doubt that."

Draco shakes his head, "You've got it all figured out, then, don't you? You just think we're all crazy."

"Well," Hermione responds. "Here you are saying that Slytherins don't get physical injuries, but even Slytherins get sick. You can't deny that."

"No. Of course, not." Draco huffs, "That's the price of being alive. We're all just living on borrowed time."

She shakes her head, "I don't even want to try to understand the way you think."

"Then don't," Draco yells in a whisper, before he points behind her. "You can leave. I have research to do."

Hermione takes a step back, "Fine. I'll go." She turns and begins to walk away, but when she reaches the end of the bookcases she turns back. "Oh, and Draco." She sees him look back up, apparently shocked by the use of his first name, but she wasn't about to use his family's name for this. _This has to do with Draco, not his family._ "Your glamours are showing." She watches as Draco panics inwardly, grabbing a small mirror from his pocket to see it for himself. Of course, she had been right. He can see it now as the dark circles under his eyes slowly become more prominent, and Hermione notices a glimpse of fear cross his face as he lowers his hand. "I can only wish you well." Draco stays still, feeling as if he's been cornered and would soon be attacked. "I do wish you'd be honest with Harry. He really does care and worry for you, and something tells me that if you're using glamours it must be worse than what you've led your friends to believe."

Draco attempts to smile, "I have to keep up reputation. The people I trust, they do know. I'm just wearing glamours so others don't."

"Oh, so you won't mind if I tell Harry, then," Hermione says as she starts to leave, but Draco calls out to her before she can.

"Wait!" He covers his mouth, realizing how loud he had just been, and the last thing he needs is for more people to see him like this.

The truth is Hermione was only bluffing, but she still shakes her head in disappointment, "Why are you doing this?"

"I—" Draco gulps, "I don't know." as he slides down to the floor. He knows he shouldn't, but it's not like anyone's going to see him, or at least none who matter. As much has he tries not to let his weakness be shown in front of his competition, he feels tears sting his eyes anyway and he pulls them off his eyelashes as he does.

Hermione hesitates, "I saw Harry research something— anemia." She sees him look up, clearly trying to keep an even expression. "Whoever he was researching for had it in the category of vitamin and mineral deficiencies. I would think that to be a pretty easy problem to solve."

Draco huffs, "Easy. And what would you know about that, Granger?"

"I know vitamins come from food." When Draco looks to the floor she continues more sternly, "My parents are dentists— healers for teeth— so I know that it doesn't matter what kind of fancy toothpaste you own. These wizard toothpastes that create barriers for acids or add glamours to make them look whiter, those aren't going to help you if you're not getting enough nutrients. If you continue on like this your teeth will start to give up, weaken and chip or decay, and one day you may even lose them."

Draco seethes, "That won't happen."

"And why's that?" Hermione nearly laughs in disbelief. "Because you're a wizard, because you're a pureblood, because you're a Malfoy?"

"Yes. That's exactly why."

Hermione shakes her head, "You're not immortal. You're not exempt from this."

Draco stands up, "I know that, but I don't need to take orders from a know-it-all, mudblood girl like you."

Hermione sadly laughs, "So, that's how you're playing this. Huh?" Draco doesn't respond. "Fine. Have it your way."

Draco watches her walk away again, "Wait." and she pauses before twisting around. "You won't tell anyone."

It wasn't supposed to be a question, but the desperateness in his voice made it so. Hermione stares at him for a moment, "I have no reason to." before she walks away.

* * *

Draco hides his eyes behind the black book he had checked out from the library. _The Sacred Twenty-Eight_. It was much more suitable for him to check out than the one he had actually been reading before. He finds it a little difficult to walk without seeing what's ahead of him, but he manages well enough to make it to his dorm and when he does he immediately hurries for the bathroom. There's a knock on the door, "Draco. Are you okay?"

It was Goyle. "Yeah. I'm fine," he returns as he looks through his big necessities bag for his eye cream. _Toothpaste. No. Mouthwash. No. Hair gel. No._ He tries to remember which pocket he had it in, but with another knock on the door his panic raises and he's unable to remember. He resorts to just pouring the contents out on the counter.

"What was that? Draco. What are you doing?"

This time it was Crabbe. _Great._ "I'm— I'm getting ready for dinner. I'll be out in a minute. Promise." He hears inaudible whispers as he finds his eye cream and hurries to put it on. The affects wouldn't take place until it dried.

"Can you unlock the door?"

He has to buy himself a minute. He looks around for something practical, something that would keep them from coming in, and in sudden realization he turns the tap on. _Hopefully they'll think it's the shower or that I'm using the toilet._ He hears mumbled conversation from outside, and after more than a few seconds later he hears Goyle's voice again.

"Why's the sink on?" Draco doesn't answer and instead uses the time to put nearly everything back into his bag. "Unlock the door or we will."

Draco stares into the mirror as he watches the cream slowly dry. A few seconds later one side is completely dry with the glamours taking affect, and as he hears the door open he watches as the other side takes effect as well. He smiles before turning towards them, "Oh. Hey."

"What's going on?" Goyle questions with suspicion.

Draco grabs the hair gel, "Oh. Sorry. Was I too loud?" They continue to look at him carefully, and then he raises the gel. "I had the hardest time finding this. You wouldn't even believe it. I actually had to dump the bag out."

Crabbe grabs the gel from him as Goyle questions, "Why did you have the sink running?"

Draco smiles, "Is it a crime to wash your hands and face now?"

"Your face doesn't look wet."

"Because I dried it off," Draco frowns. He can't help but laugh and shakes his head to cover it up, "What did you think I was doing? Did you think I took some potion? Did you think I had casted a spell of some sort? Or what, exactly?"

"I'm not sure." He continues staring at him suspiciously, but soon enough Crabbe taps his arm, points to some words on the gel bottle, and reads it aloud for him.

"For perfect thick, sleek, and shiny hair apply once to twice a day."

When they look at him Draco smiles in denial, "Every gel says that. That's what gel's for, isn't it? To sleek back hair?"

Crabbe gives a stern look before looking back down at the bottle and continuing, "For thin and brittle hair use two to three times a day for better results."

Goyle crosses his arms, "How do you explain that?"

Draco licks his lips before slowly saying, "I didn't buy it because it worked on thin hair."

Goyle looks over to Crabbe, "When is the last time you remember seeing him not wearing gel?"

Crabbe slightly shakes his head with an unsure look, "I don't know. Maybe a couple years. I know he definitely wore it at that event last year."

"I don't have to take this." Draco tries to move past him, but he can't. "Let me through."

"No," Goyle answers in stress, taking the bottle from Crabbe and stretching it out in front of Draco. "Do you know how bad this is? You can't just cover up your problems. They'll still be there, and no matter who you fool you won't be able to deny it to yourself."

"I didn't buy it to cover up problems. I don't have any problems," he denies as he tries to push past them but continues to fail.

"Whoa. What's going on here?"

When they look outside of the bathroom Blaise is seen, so Goyle smiles as he places an arm on Draco's shoulder, "Nothing. We were just trying to give Draco here some hair tips, but he doesn't seem to want them."

He shrugs, a set of clothes on an arm, "His hair looks fine to me."

"That's what I keep trying to tell them," Draco complains as he moves past them all.

Blaise asks, "I need to take a shower. Are you done here?"

Goyle puts the gel on top of Draco's bag, "Yeah. We're done." before they move out, and as Pike is seen too they're unable to continue the conversation with Draco.

* * *

\- I know a lot of people might find Crabbe and Goyle so annoying in this chapter, but as it's mostly from Draco's perspective that's just how someone with these kind of issues would perceive it. I must stress, though, that they and Hermione are right about one thing; it isn't enough to fix yourself up on the outside by hiding your flaws. Things like dark circles, blue or brittle nails, and thin or brittle hair are all signs of malnourishment and can typically be fixed by adding more of a specific vitamin/mineral to your diet or just by eating more... Now in the muggle world eye creams for dark circles do exist. I'm not saying don't use them. I'm just saying only use them if you're currently doing well and not vitamin deficient. It may be possible that it's just harder for vitamins to reach the eye area, which may be why those eye creams tend to have vitamins in it. Also, dark circles can just come from tiredness, not necessarily malnutrition, but since a lack of nutrition can result in tiredness I would recommend not to assume that tiredness is the cause. Remember, if you're an athlete, you may require more calories or vitamins than is recommended. I wish everyone well. Have a good day/night/week.


	45. Heated Moments

\- Hey everyone. Sorry for not posting for a while nearly immediately after I promised I'd start to write/post more. I actually do have a lot written. After last weekend I have six chapters on reserve, including this one. My goal will be to post two a night. I would have posted earlier, but you need to know that I'm always hesitant to do so. There are times where I will read a chapter 3 or 5 times to correct mistakes (I have read this author's note at least 5 times now), but later on I nearly always find mistakes after it's been posted anyway. Therefore, I do apologize if unintentional mistakes are found (and if it's out of the characters' quotes, then you can almost bet it wasn't intentional). **Reader Question** :Someone was asking why Draco seemed to think that he couldn't eat regularly. The thing is I'm not sure if Draco has disordered eating or an actual eating disorder (there is a difference), but in either case it's never truly a nice cut reason as to why or how the behaviors and/or thoughts develop. In Draco's case, obviously his family has high expectations as the most prosperous pureblood family. He'd have to both look good and be accomplished (good grades, good sports title, be talented and resilient), and it really is easy to do well in school when you're freeing up all that pesky time that's dedicated to eating (is how someone going through something like that would think). There's probably many other reasons, including but not limited to something you will learn more about later: **Spoiler.** Due to religious reasons Draco's had to start fasting from an early age at least twice a year. He found it easy, a little too easy... This is probably the biggest warning sign. With things like fasting and purging, I don't think people are going to be able to do those kinds of things unless they're predisposed to getting an eating disorder (and if you're doing it for a religious reason, it definitely shouldn't be easy). It's sad, because even though I think it's the earliest and most important warning sign, it's probably the least regarded and can't be seen until the behaviors start. The person exhibiting the behaviors may even ignore how easy it is, because sometimes these things happen by accident, and eventually it can turn into a really bad habit that a person keeps falling back on. Because it's just that easy. **Spoiler Finished.** I hope I didn't make anyone sad just there. I hope everyone has a good day/night. Enjoy!

* * *

"Oh. There you are, Harry." He turns around and gives a questioning look at the sight of Ron. "You need to help me."

"Help you with what?" he asks in irritation.

Ron walks closer, "Hermione's not speaking to me, or at least she's trying not to, and it's been affecting my schoolwork." He puts his hands up to make quotes, "The teachers say I lack 'participation'."

"And you're coming to me why?" He shakes his head and looks toward where he had been heading— to the dorm. _Ron isn't the only one with homework._

"Would you believe it," Ron laughs, "if I told you that she actually thinks Malfoy is a human being?"

Harry gives a pointed look and stresses, "He is human."

Ron looks to the floor as he shrugs, "Maybe, but he behaves like a monster."

Harry retorts, "And you don't?"

Ron begins to yell and points at himself, "I've never called Hermione a mud…thing."

"And Draco's never called you arrogant— or a monster."

He huffs, "No. He just calls my family stupid and poor."

"Stupid as in reckless," Harry explains. "He just thinks Gryffindors tend to do things without thinking. As far as your family goes, you are poor, not that that should even have to be mentioned. It's not like it's your fault."

"Exactly. It's not, so why don't you tell him to stop making jokes about it?"

Harry calmly replies, "I wasn't aware he was." Ron crosses his arms. "I'll tell him to stop, but if he does you have to stop calling him arrogant and selfish."

"No way. He doesn't deserve that kind of niceness."

Harry takes a deep breath, "Isn't that the whole point of this. You're both human. Neither of you deserve to be treated like this."

Ron shakes his head, but eventually he uncrosses his arms, "Fine. But only if he manages to stop making fun of me, then I will stop saying those things."

Harry smiles in stress, "Great. Now about Hermione; I'll talk to her, but it will be her decision to speak to you again. You're just lucky she's a really nice girl who feels an obligation towards school and teachers. Otherwise, I wouldn't even know how to help you."

Ron shakes his head, muttering, "Thanks." as he turns and walks away."

* * *

The next day Hermione sits at a table in the back of the library with a stack of books, but when she peers up from the one she's started reading she sees the platinum-blond haired Slytherin, "Draco."

Draco turns his head and sees her begin to stand, and he shakes his head as he begins to walk away. He hears his name again, but he doesn't care. He remembers the other day when she had seen his imperfections. _Not that anyone would believe her, right?_ He shakes his head again, because even if that last incident hadn't happened, he still shouldn't be associating with her. _And it doesn't even matter that we're not friends. If I keep speaking to her people might think we are, and if that reaches my parents…_

"Draco," Hermione grabs his shoulder.

"What?" Draco nearly yells as he turns around.

Hermione pauses, her mouth left slightly open with shock. There hadn't been much to Draco's shoulder, or at least the part she had touched. _The school robes must have hidden it._ She notices she's staring, as Draco looks to where she had been, so she quickly attempts to pull herself from the nonthoughts she had been experiencing, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Draco whispers as he takes a step back.

"Are you sure?" Hermione questions, and she sees him look away. "It's just—"

"Just what?" Draco snaps. He really shouldn't be here.

"It's just—" She pauses, "You seem a bit thin."

Draco looks away for a moment, "Yeah. I know. I'm working on it." He laughs, "I just wish we still had quidditch practice."

"Why's that?" Hermione's eyebrows furrow.

"Well," Draco explains nonchalantly, "The point is to gain muscle. When I get my weight up I don't need to be fat, do I."

Hermione shakes her head slowly in worry, "You're not fat, Draco."

"Not yet," Draco responds. "But if I were to just stuff myself full like my friends, then that's exactly what would happen."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione questions in confusion. "Harry's thin."

Draco smiles, "That's not who I was talking about." before he looks away again. Hermione opens her mouth to speak, but then he talks again. "Yes. Yes. It is a good book isn't it, at least for a Hogwarts library at least."

"What?"

"Hey guys." Harry looks between them, "I didn't think you two talked to each other."

"We don't," Draco assures. "We just ran into each other. She wanted to know what I was reading."

Harry looks down at the big book, "What are you reading?"

Draco shows the front title, "It's a book on health, nutritional health and related illnesses." Harry nods with approval but doesn't smile. He looks at the book, "I did very well in the health classes of my primary school, actually— My grades were probably perfect— but I wanted to do more research on my… condition." He should have a word for it by now. _But words like 'condition' make it seem semi-permanent, and my father thinks it's just some foolish choice. My mother is much nicer. She just thinks it's some terrible mistake._

Harry looks between Draco and Hermione, "So, you know she knows, then?" Draco stays quiet. "I didn't mean for her to find out. We were just researching and—"

Draco interrupts, "It's fine, Harry. It's not like anyone will believe her. Just make sure not to tell anyone else."

Hermione gives a look, her voice tense and articulate, "If no one will believe me, then why did you ask me not to tell anyone?"

Draco's eyebrows go up and then down in mild surprise, "You're a smart girl. Why don't you tell me?"

She crosses her arms, partially in defense and partially from the habit of carrying large books, "Really. I'm smart? I thought you just thought of me as some stupid mudblood."

His smirk widens, "And why do you think I called you that?" After the second of lacked response he answers, "To distance myself. To see you as less of a threat than what you are."

Hermione tries not to smile, "You see me as a threat?"

Draco looks around before responding, "Do you know what my parents would do if they found out I was tied neck-to-neck with a muggle for the best grades?"

"She's a witch," Harry corrects.

"Whatever," Draco bypasses. "My point is that if you're getting the same grades as I do, then you must be smart on some level."

"Thanks?" Hermione questions.

"Don't get used to it," Draco continues. "One of my goals is to receive an Outstanding in every class by the end of term." He sees her expression change, "What?"

She slowly shakes her head, "I strive to do my best." Her eyes move. "Actually, if my best isn't good enough, then I strive to make it better."

"So, you're saying you also hope to receive an Outstanding in every class this semester."

She smiles, "You might have some competition."

"We'll see about that." He stretches his hand out, "May the best wix win." and he swears Hermione's smile becomes more evil or mischievous somehow as she accepts the handshake.

"This is going to be fun."

Harry interrupts, "Sorry. What's a wix?"

Hermione answers, "It's a neutral term for a witch or wizard."

He questions, "Then why don't teachers use that term? It could really make things go a whole lot faster."

Draco comments, "It's more formal to say 'witch or wizard' rather than 'wix'. Wix is just a slang word and grammatically speaking it's used as a singular gender neutral pronoun, but no such thing exists. Technically, the word doesn't even exist. It's just the root word of 'wixes', which is a plural form of 'witches and wizards', but once again it's completely informal and so anyone wishing to be respected would never be caught using those words."

"But you're using them," Harry retorts.

"Am I at a pureblood event?"

"No."

"Am I working at a job?"

"No."

"Am I in class?"

"No."

Draco smiles, "Then I will do what I damn well please." Harry tries to stifle a laugh, and his friend's smile fades. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Harry says as he tries to take a breath and suppress his inward laughter. "It's just that this obligation to your family and the pureblood community seems to have left a hard shell of expectations around you, and it's so sweet to see you try to poke through it."

"Oh, shut up," Draco mumbles as he crosses his arms.

Harry has a hard time not smiling, "There's no reason to get mad, Draco."

"I'm not mad," he whispers.

"Maybe he's embarrassed," Hermione suggests.

"Malfoy's don't get embarrassed," Draco denies.

"Then how do you explain how you turned so pink all of a sudden?" she retorts.

Draco's stern expression falls, and he mutters as he looks away, "It's just hot in here. There must be something wrong with the charmwork."

Harry comments, "I feel fine." He turns to Hermione. "What about you?" She nods.

Draco puts the health book away, "I'm going to get some fresh air."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Harry asks.

"Yeah. I'm sure." He gestures to the three of them, "If this whole thing is going to work, then I really can't be seen with her." He attempts to smile, "But you two have fun."

As he begins to back away, Hermione questions, "So, you're not going to tell me to stay away from Harry? Maybe make some threat, or perhaps have me undermine my self-worth?"

Draco shakes his head, "He's made it clear he's not going to stay away from you, and I'd rather share him with you than not have him as a friend at all." There's silence and he looks away for a moment, before he points behind himself and backs away, "Sorry. I've got to go."

Harry questions to Hermione, "What do you think that was about?" as he stares at Draco's bothered steps.

"Weren't you listening?" She waits until Harry looks back at her. "He sees me as a threat. I'm just competition to him."

Harry scrunches his mouth in unsureness as he looks down and shakes his head, "I hope I didn't actually embarrass him with that shell poking comment. I didn't mean to make him look weak." He looks back up at Hermione. "Especially not in front of someone he feels is a threat."

"I'm sure he knows you didn't," reassures Hermione, before she smiles. "Personally, I thought it was rather clever. It was much more imaginative than what you normally say."

Harry tries to smile too, but he finds it a little harder to than it had been only a minute ago. "We should sit."

"Right." Hermione guides him to the table she had been sitting at previously. "So, I haven't found out anything terribly helpful yet, but there is this one thing." Harry watches as she opens up the book to a bookmarked page, but he finds himself placing a hand over the page before she can continue any further. She smiles, "Harry. I've got to see."

He licks his lips, "I know." He pauses and takes away his hand at the sight of her questioning look, "We need to talk about Ron." The look on her face proves she'd rather just stick with what needs to get done, but since Harry knows Ron's grades depend on them talking he continues with the subject anyway. In the end Hermione seems more focused on their original task, seeming to put Ron on the backburner, but Harry gets the feeling that she'd feel guilty if Ron continued to do poorly and so would indeed at least speak to him again.


	46. Jealousy

Draco sits down beneath a tree near the lake, and he breathes in the fresh, crisp air as he embraces the cold and quiet grounds. The lake has a thin layer of cracked ice, and water is seen flowing over it. If someone were to go over there they'd probably find it quite slippery, that is if they hadn't endangered themselves by falling in. The earth itself is thickly frosted, and the trees' leaves have already fallen. Draco picks up a brown maple one, and he twirls it in-between the glove of his fingers as he examines it. It was clearly dead, and it was alone. _Only a month ago, maybe less, had it been full of life, clinging to the tree above._ He drops the frosted leaf. _But now it's dead and the branches are bare. I guess, in time everything disappears…_

"This doesn't look good."

Draco looks up briefly to see Goyle, "What do you ever mean?"

Goyle sits down, "You're sulking. That's not good." Draco merely shrugs. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Draco shrugs again before commenting, "It's nothing." and he shivers before bringing his legs to his chest and rests his chin on his knees. "I just kind of really hate her."

"Who?" asks Goyle, peaked with interest.

"Granger," Draco comments slowly, the name feeling a bit like a mouth full of rocks and gravel and is hard to spit out.

"Didn't you tell Harry that you didn't hate her?"

"Yeah," he mumbles. "But at the time I didn't think I did." He pauses. "I'm still not sure if I do."

"Then what's the problem?"

Draco looks up at two older students, whom are laughing and disturbing his space and conversation as they walk by on the path. He lets out an annoyed breath, "I don't know. I just don't like her. She's too smart. Too nice. She's too pretty."

Goyle smiles, "You think she's pretty?"

"For a muggle," Draco rolls his eyes. "I mean, her hair is long, her face is nice and even and just about blemish free." He looks to Goyle, "Guys like that kind of thing, don't they?"

He nods, "Ah, yeah. We do." There's silence for a moment. "So, when you said she was pretty, you don't think she's pretty in the way someone does when they like someone? You just know she looks nice, or that some people would find her nice by muggle standards?"

"Well, no. Of course, I don't like her," he sternly responds.

"I didn't mean to offend you." It's quiet for a second as they look away from one another, "I guess I was just hoping you were starting to like girls. It would make for good conversation." He stares out at the icy lake. "I don't have a lot of friends, so right now Vincent's the only person I can talk about girls to. It would be awkward to talk about that kind of thing with a parent."

"It wouldn't be awkward," Draco counters. "They'd just tell you it can't happen."

Goyle nods, "That's probably true." and Draco watches irritably as his friend's eyes follow another girl walking along the path.

He shakes his head, "Why don't you just ask someone out. That way I only need to watch you staring at one girl throughout the day, instead of multiple of them."

"I'm not sure it works like that, unless, of course, if I were just completely obsessed." He looks back at Draco, "But getting back on topic, the reason you're moping around out here is because you don't like Granger?"

Draco shakes his head, "I just really don't like how much time she spends with Harry. I mean, what if he starts to like her more than he likes me?"

Goyle nearly laughs, "So, are you insecure or just jealous?"

"I'm not jealous," he responds as he wraps his arms around his legs. "Jealousy only occurs between employees and couples."

"Hmm. Not always. Actually, I've noticed a few students seem to get jealous over my calligraphy quill."

Draco looks at him in disbelief, "But you need it. They don't."

Goyle shrugs, "They don't know that." and then Draco looks away. "The point is that people can get jealous over more than just a job or relationship. So, it is possible you're jealous of Granger's friendship with Harry, although I don't know why you would be. It's not like him having other friends is going to change the fact that you're friends with him."

Draco thinks for a moment, but he's unable to come up with a rational reason either. "I just don't like how much time they're spending together." He shakes his head, "He could do so much better."

His friend smiles, "Just wait until he gets a girlfriend. You won't be able to pull him away for even a second."

Draco slouches back more onto the tree and grumbles, "Girls ruin everything."

Goyle puts a hand on Draco's shoulder and laughs, "Just wait. I bet in a few years you'll regret saying that." before he stands up. "We should head inside. I think you've been out here long enough."

Draco mumbles, "I don't want to go inside."

"But you're shivering."

"I don't care," he grits his teeth to prevent them from chattering. "What if I do go back inside and go to the dorm? Am I just supposed to wait around until he decides to pay notice, only for him to talk about his afternoon with that Granger girl?"

"Or," Goyle suggests. "You could just come to dinner. It will be starting soon."

Draco looks away, "I'm not hungry." so much wanting to just sit there frozen in his thoughts, and it's only when he sees the small flurries that he realizes how numb his skin had become due to the now harsh wind. He also finds himself suddenly tired. "I just want to sleep."

"You can do that after dinner." He sees Draco give him a look, so he raises the pitch of his voice to entice, "I bet they have hot chocolate."

He continues to sit in the frost, as the flurries begin to cover his already white hair, "What if I want to be frozen?"

Goyle almost laughs, but he shakes his head with a smile instead, "Come on. You don't want to get hypa— hypet—"

"Hypothermia," Draco says as he looks up.

"Yes. That." He sees his friend shake his head, "Come on. Don't make me get Snape to fetch you." He's given a look. "Well, if any member of his house dies, it will be partially his fault, won't it."

"I'm not going to die," Draco stands. "So, you said there was hot chocolate?" Goyle smiles, and soon enough they're gathering in the Hall with the other students.

* * *

\- My favorite part of this chapter is when Draco asks, "What if I want to be frozen?" It's just one of those silly, childish things that some people will exhibit if they're sad. Although, if you think more deeply into the chapter it is rather sad: dead leaves, being abandoned, and wanting to be frozen. Draco definitely isn't a happy child, is he? **Author Question:** If Draco were to look into the Mirror of Erised (the mirror that shows what you most desire), what do you think he'd see? Hint: No. It's not Harry.


	47. For a Lack of Trying

\- Good morning everyone. Yes, morning not night. Better late than later. I just want to make sure I'm not confusing anyone. It's been mentioned before and I think I do well with it in the chapter, but I still feel the need to note that Crabbe and Goyle's first names are Vincent and Greg respectfully. This chapter is partly from Greg's point of view, so I felt his first name should be used. Also, since Harry knows their first names, I may end up using them again if he's watching something they're doing or if he's asking them something. Now, introducing Professor Ghost's History of Magic class. Enjoy!

* * *

Thursday morning during Hisory of Magic everyone is handed back their tests, everyone but for Goyle. Vincent Crabbe offers a sympathetic glance, and although Draco seems to notice he says nothing as he and Harry compare scores and talk about the unfairness of it all. The professor coughs before muttering, "Mr. Gaunt. May I see you for a moment?" Most of the students have now left as the class had already ended, but there are still a few left behind gathering and sorting through their items. Vincent and Greg linger behind and watch as the ghost looks at the parchment again, "Sorry. Err, Mr. Gayle. May I speak to you for a moment?"

His friend whispers, "I think he's talking to you."

Well, of course, it was he the teacher had been referring to. It was obvious, as he had been the only student not to receive a test back, but he doesn't respond and just walks up to the professor instead. "Yes, Sir?"

"Ah, Mr. Gayle."

"It's Goyle, actually," he corrects.

"Are you sure?" The ghost looks at the test again, "Here it specifically says 'Gayle'."

He mutters in embarrassment, "I don't have the best handwriting." The professor seems to hum in disapproval. "I usually use a calligraphy quill, but we're supposed to be quiet doing tests and a quill like that requires to be spoken to."

"Hmm. Tell me, boy. How did you make it this long with handwriting like this? I can read most of it just because I'm experienced, but if you weren't in my class I'd swear a small child wrote this."

Greg looks around, and he takes a deep, relieved breath knowing the only other person in the room now is Vincent. He looks back at the waiting professor, "I was homeschooled, Sir. My parents had me work on my handwriting, but I make a lot of mistakes and when I'm in a rush it can get sloppy so they gave up."

"Yes. I noticed you've crossed a couple words out and added a few with pointing arrows as well, but what I really don't understand is why you left the last questions blank. You had a whole class hour to complete it."

"That's exactly it," Greg counters, trying to hide his desperation. "I only had an hour. On the last test you wrote that answering an essay question with only one sentence didn't count and that I needed at least five or seven complete sentences. But half of the test is essay questions, so since you wanted me to write more it became impossible to complete them all."

Professor Binns keeps an even expression, "Now, there. There's no reason to get worked up the way you teens do. The matter of fact is that every other student has been able to complete his or her test within the allotted time. Actually, there's a Gryffindor student, a Ms. Grant, who does just excellent work every time. Nice long and clear explanations, and if I'm remembering correctly I don't think she's gotten a single question wrong yet."

"Grant? We have no Grants in our year," Greg comments sternly.

"Oh. Don't we? I could have sworn…" Greg and Vincent give each other a glance, as the teacher looks through stacks of parchment. "Ah. Here we go. Ah. Yes. Miss Granger, not Miss Grant. My mistake."

"Granger," Greg nearly shouts. "But she's one of the best students in our year. You should be comparing me to the average student, not the best ones."

"Look at this," the ghost looks over the paper in admiration. "Such nice handwriting, and her sentences are constructed so nicely. The flow of her essay responses is marvelous—"

Greg interrupts the dazed ghost, "I don't care how great her work is. I poorly how care mine is."

"Now. There's no reason to shout. Slow down and calmly discuss this, or I will have to ask you to come back when your attitude changes."

"When my attitude changes?" He takes an angry breath, "Nothing is going to change. I'll still have the same thoughts, feelings, the same problems. The only thing that's going to make a difference here is if you start giving the class an extra day to do tests."

The ghost grumbles loudly, "You dare disrespect me like this?" Greg gulps, but not at the professor's claim of disrespect. That's just something the older generation is obsessed with, and so he's used to it. No. He just can't fight a picture that keeps running through his head; his father's disappointment, but he knows he won't be to blame. There would be no one to blame, and he just imagines his parents blaming themselves. He pictures himself standing in the hallway during winter break, watching them worry about him, saying that if only they had worked with him more, if only they hadn't done something, or if only they had instilled more encouragement or confidence within him that then perhaps this wouldn't have happened. He feels a tear fall down his face, and he tries his best to quickly wipe it away; however, he sees the teacher notice. "You must be tired. You know, the best thing a student can do is to get a good night's rest. Maybe that will help you improve in this class."

Greg shakes his head, "You really think I'll be able to sleep with this hanging over my head? Tests are the largest part of our grade. If I continue to do poorly on them, then it won't matter how much time I spend on homework. I'll still fail the class."

"Look," Professor Binns reorganizes his stacks of papers. "There have been students in the past who were slow or just plain stupid, and for those pupils I would make sure they didn't fail so long as it looked like they were trying; however, with your sloppy handwriting and lack of notetaking it's clear you aren't trying."

"I don't take notes," Greg explains desperately, "because I'm not fast enough, and what I do manage to write tends to be bad. Even if I'm taking notes at my own pace, it's practically impossible to use them later. It's hard to find what's needed, and when I read it's hard and gives me headaches. It takes me forever to read anything in the first place, which is why I so rely heavily on memorization."

"Now you're just coming up with excuses. I know you can read. If you couldn't, then you wouldn't even have been able to answer the questions that only require a date as answer." He looks at the paper again, "And come now. Look at this. This question asks why the judge was not able to be part of the board on that day, and you responded with saying that he was able to show up because he's on the jury for Auror captures and forbidden magic. I suppose since it's technically not an essay question the fact that there's only one sentence doesn't matter, but I would have hoped that you would know that the well-known judge couldn't attend that day because his own son was on trial and his vote would be biased."

"I just missed the 'not'," Greg complains. "It happens more than I would like, but tests are considered formal and for some stupid reason contractions are considered informal. It makes it stupidly easy to mess up. It's not my fault."

"Just sounds like lazy work ethic to me."

"What do you want me to do? I already spend half of the night doing homework, but clearly that's not going to help me with tests is it?"

There's a long pause before the old ghost responds, "I think you should leave, young man, and on your way out why don't you think over what you've done."

Greg gives a disbelieving look, and after a moment Vincent tugs him on the sleeve, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Greg shakes his head but follows his friend out anyway, and when they exit the room Greg mutters in irritation, "Stupid, old git."

Vincent comments evenly, "Can't argue with that there." There's a long pause, and they pass multiple groups of people before he asks, "Do you think you'll tell your parents?"

He takes a sad breath, "I don't think I have a choice. He'll fail me if given the chance. The least I can do is warn them."

"Hey. Maybe they'll be able to help."

"By what means?" he questions. "Buying off the school?" His friend shrugs, and he shakes his head. "I don't know. We're not as well-off as we used to be. If they were to do something like that, they'd probably need a little help."

"Isn't that what the pureblood community is for?" asks Vincent. "Is to help each other?"

Greg nods, "Yeah. I guess you're right. Let's just hope there's enough help to go around. It always seems like everyone has their own issues."

* * *

"Excuse me. Madam Sprout."

The Herbology teacher speaks over the running water, "Yes, Malfoy. What is it?"

"It's just—" He pauses and waits for the water to be turned off, and when it is she turns toward him. "I saw my grade, and I was wondering if there was some mistake. I have been doing well on the homework."

"Ah, yes." He follows her as she brings the wooden pail of water into the greenhouse. "You do fairly well on the research, actually. Unfortunately, in this class the bulk of the grade comes from participation, and you haven't been working that hard. You're not a hard worker."

"But I've been doing what everyone else has been," he complains. "This isn't fair."

"You want to know what isn't fair?" she turns to him for a moment, before she remembers the plants need watering. "What isn't fair is losing a parent at a young age. What isn't fair is tending to poisonous plants nowhere even close to the hospital wing. What isn't fair is upgrading the castle to have plumbing and not even have one of those outhouses out here, but you don't see me complaining do you."

"And that all sounds very terrible," Draco surmises. "But I really need to get my grade up. If my father knew I was failing… he just wouldn't be happy."

"Tell me, Mr. Malfoy. You're grade has been like this nearly all semester, so why are you so suddenly keen to come and ask me about it?"

"I didn't realize— I've been forgetting to check it. I'm sorry to say, but this isn't exactly my favorite class."

"I believe that, what with all the standing around and poking of plants you do."

"I do more than that," he defends.

"Not much more, I dare say." She moves over to the next table, "I know you must not be used to hard labor, but you need to learn how to get your hands a little dirty." She watches Draco carefully, and seeming to see his bothered expression she adds, "With dirt, of course. Nothing illegal, just good, all natural dirt, leaves, and soil."

"I know," Draco responds in a higher pitch, trying not to think of the dirty work his parents no doubt had to do while the Dark Lord had been in power.

"Just making myself clear, dear."

After a moment of silence Draco questions, "So, how do I get my grade up?"

"It's not that hard. You just need to try and work hard."

"But I have been trying."

She clicks her tongue as she begins to repot a plant, "Then try harder, because from where I'm standing it doesn't seem like you are."

Draco stays quiet. He had been trying. He really has. It's just he has a thing about dirt and a need to stay clean. He watches her for a few more moments, before he shakes his head and walks off. _I'll just have to try harder._ A picture of his dirty hands crosses his mind, and suddenly he feels the soreness of them again. He takes a quick look at them, before he turns them into fists, replacing the soreness from scrubbing with a sting in which he embraces with the knowledge that he has to do better. _No matter what that means._

* * *

\- So, the character's do have issues which prevent them from passing classes. As you may have guessed by now, Gregory Goyle has a form of dyslexia. This seemed to make sense, since in the second book Draco comments saying 'I didn't know you could read'. You would think that his friend would tell him if he had found a pair of glasses that helped. The idea here is that even though he's had enough practice to speak well, if he's angry or upset he may forget to think through every word he says. I probably should have had more 'mistakes' in his argument with the teacher, but I couldn't find a good place to put them. There were some errors I had made while writing his dialogue, but those are more things that are going to happen when you're writing and not speaking (like typing 'his' instead of 'is' or repeating a word while replacing another like 'he read read it' instead of 'he has read it'), so I was unable to keep those errors. (I just reread what I wrote, and in the portion "I had made while writing" I actually wrote "I had been while writing". Don't worry. It's fixed now. Let's just laugh it off. Continuing on to Draco's problem with dirt, I can't say I personally have a problem with soil or plants; however, if I don't do dishes the way I need to, then I have the same reaction. I'm not sure if the reason behind is fear/disgust will be mentioned in this fanfic, but it will be mentioned in his journal under the chapter "12/12/1991". It probably won't be posted for another day or two, but it's something short to look forward to.


	48. Contribution and Contraband

"Ah. Lucius Malfoy. How are you?"

"Now, Dumbledore, you know I'm not much for small talk."

"Yes. Yes. So, then, why are you here?"

Lucius takes out a large coin bag, "Mr. Goyle informed me his son is having a bit of trouble with his classes."

Dumbledore clasps his hands, "You know we don't accept bribes, Lucius."

"But this isn't a bribe," he assures. "Oh. No, no." He looks down at the black bag. "Mr. Goyle and I have simply rounded up a modest contribution to donate to this school, under the circumstances that all written tests and exams shall take place for the span of two days. That way, any students who didn't finish in time or would like to look things over may do so."

The headmaster hums, "Well, I do suppose that is a reasonable proposal. Is there anything specific you'd like your contribution to go towards?"

Lucius smirks, "No. Only just the wellbeing of the students and their education."

Dumbledore watches Lucius place the bag onto the table, before he gives a nod, "So." He clears his throat. "Will that be all?"

"Yes. I think it is."

Dumbledore nods again, "Then have yourself a good day, Mr. Malfoy."

Lucius nods with a conniving smile, "Yes. Have a good day." before he begins to leave, but then he turns around and partially raises his hand in question, his fingers down with his index and thumb touching. "I don't suppose you'd know where my son is at this moment, would you?"

He responds in his usual aged, hoarse voice, "I imagine he'd be in the Great Hall with the other students. It is lunch after all."

"Yes." Lucius turns back around but then pauses, before he strides out of the office.

* * *

"Draco!"

Draco nearly falls off his broom, but he manages to steady himself before looking down. There was no mistaking it. His father's right there, and he looks more angry and disappointed than ever. Slowly, Draco makes his way back to the ground, before he stands in front of his father. He mumbles his surprise, "What are you doing here?"

His father's eyes narrow, "I was just donating a contribution to the school, so I thought I'd pay you a little visit. It's a good thing I did. What do you think you're doing? I went looking for you in the Hall, only for your friends to confess you'd be here!"

"I don't do it every day," he assures. "And I ate on my way down. It's just that the field's been booked, and I wanted to get in some practice."

"You should be in the Hall eating," he seethes.

"I know, Father, but this way I gain more muscle too. I gained nearly two inches around my arms since I've come here."

"Oh," his father drags. "And how might you know that?"

"Well, I—" After the realization he looks up at him, trying to smile, "It's just a guess." but it epically fails.

"Draco. Where is it?" his father says in pleasant curiosity.

He gulps, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The tape measure," he splutters in sudden anger.

Draco's back bends backward, before he takes a step in that direction as well. He takes an uneasy breath, "I swear, it was just a guess. I don't have anything."

His father grips him tightly on the forearm, "We'll see about that." and drags him off to the Slytherin quidditch tent. "Which one's yours?"

Draco points, and his father drags him over to the locker before searching. "There's nothing in there," Draco stresses in near boredom, and he takes a look at his pocket watch, thankful it's the weekend. Had it been any other day, his father would no doubt make him late, and then he'd have to explain both his lateness and attire to the whole class.

"Come on." Lucius tightens his grip even further, making Draco wince as he's pulled into a fast walk again. "I will just have to search your room."

When they get into the dorm everyone stares, and unluckily this also includes Blaise, Pike, and Nott. On the other hand, Nott is more of the loner type, so Draco knows he will continue reading and mind his own business. _If he does have any thoughts, he rarely shows them._

Blaise looks at Draco disapprovingly, "You look like a mess. What were you doing, running around the grounds?"

Draco finds himself too out of breath to say that that's indeed what had happened, so instead he leans back on his four-poster and is surprised to see Harry stand in-between them. "Don't speak to him like that."

Blaise looks towards Pike and laughs, before he turns back to Harry, "And what if I don't want to?"

"Then," Mr. Malfoy interrupts. "I'll be making sure to tell your mother that you've been harassing my son." Suddenly, Blaise cowers away. "You should show more respect." Then, more kindly, he addresses his son, "Am I to assume this is your bed?" Draco nods. "Which makes that your dresser?" he points. Draco nods again.

Harry sees Draco holding onto a column of the bed for support, noticing that he's still out of breath, "Are you okay?"

Draco ignores him and watches as his father opens the top drawer. "Look at all this. What are you trying to do, start a collection?"

"I just forget," Draco answers breathlessly.

His father shuts the top drawer, "Well, do try to remember. Your mother and I don't send you these things just so they can pile up in a drawer." before continuing onto the next, and soon enough the nicely folded clothes have become disarranged as the contents are searched. "Ah. Contraband." He slowly walks over and towers over Draco, holding the item so it can be clearly seen. "You don't have anything, huh?"

Still trying to catch his breath, he merely suggests, "Must have packed it by mistake."

"Hmm." His father puts it into his own pocket, "Well, now you don't have to worry about getting rid of it. I'll take care of it for you." In a lower tone he says, "I'll make sure of that." as he begins to walk off.

"So, you're not going to punish me," Draco responds in surprise. Immediately, as his father shoots around, he regrets saying it, but he's clearly too tired to have thought properly.

He walks closer to Draco, "No. There'll be plenty of time for that during winter break, which is fast approaching." He gives a crooked smile and comments, "Perhaps we should pray to rid you of this obsession during the solstice." He turns back around and starts to walk off again, "That way we'll know for sure that there won't be any more issues."

When his father leaves Draco sees everyone staring at him. He directs a sneer at the three who aren't his friends, "What are you looking at?" and soon after they retreat back into their own lives with mild, nonrelated conversation.

Harry shakes his head, "What was that all about?"

Draco sits on his bed, "Nothing. My father just found out I've been measuring myself. He doesn't like it very much."

Harry sits down as well, "I don't understand. Why do you have to do that anyway?"

"Too see my progress, like muscle growth. It's not that big of a deal."

"It kind of is," Crabbe chimes in.

Goyle hesitates, "Your father did have a point. You kind of are a little obsessed."

"It's just a measuring tape," Draco comments in irritation. "We use them all the time in Potions and Herbology."

Goyle sees a small smirk creep onto Draco's face, "You're not planning on stealing one, are you?"

Draco laughs, "How desperate would I have to be in order to steal something like that."

"Pretty desperate," Crabbe answers, and Draco's smile falls.

"Yeah," Goyle agrees. "I imagine it would take the same amount of desperateness as someone not telling their friends they had something, just because they knew they weren't supposed to have it."

"Am I missing something?" asks Harry in slight confusion.

Crabbe and Goyle give each other a look, before Goyle responds, "Well, you already know about Draco's…" He looks over at the three witnesses before continuing, "Issue. The thing is that even though purebloods are supposed to look nice and do well, especially his family, his father wants him to deal with his issue first."

"It doesn't matter, though," interrupts Draco. "He'd be completely disgusted with me if I didn't look or do well, even if I did do what he wanted. He may even be more disappointed if that happened. At least this way I'm still preserving my image."

"More like hiding it," Crabbe scoffs in a mumble.

"What did you just say?" Draco raises his voice.

"Nothing," Goyle answers. "He didn't say anything. We're all just a bit worried about you. Why don't you just do what your father says? If he doesn't like it, you can just tell him off and it's his own fault."

"But it's not his fault. It's always my fault. He makes that very clear." Harry sees a glimpse of horror on his friend's face, before Draco looks down towards the floor. "It doesn't matter what I do. I can never please him, and I will never win. So, what's the point?" He feels Harry touch his shoulder, but he pulls it away with the turn of his head.

"It will be okay," Harry comments.

"Yeah, right." He moves further onto his bed and grabs the curtain, "Why don't you just spend the afternoon with Granger? That's what you're best at." before he closes it.

Harry stands up just in time as to not be in the way, and he asks, "What does she have to do with this?" There's no response. "Come on. Don't be like this. Can we talk?" The curtain still doesn't move, and Harry knows that the silencing spell used for privacy would prevent him from hearing anything Draco says while the overhanging is closed. "We could play a game of chess." Still nothing.

Greg comments, "Just let him be. Who knows, maybe in a couple hours he'll regret it and want to play chess with you anyway."

Harry looks back at Draco's bed, "But it's Sunday. We have the Potion's packet to do."

"Then finish your part. For all we know, he could have already finished his."

Harry nods in accepted defeat and does just that.

* * *

\- That's it for today. I'll post more tonight or tomorrow. I hope you enjoyed. PS: No one's guessed what Draco would see if he looked into the Mirror of Erised, yet. The mirror comes into play in about four or five chapters. You can bet that if Harry decides to show anyone it that it would be a chapter or two after that. You have a couple days to display your guess as to what Draco most desires. Don't worry. There aren't any dumb guesses, but I will honestly be surprised if someone answers completely correct. I just want to see if anyone can get close, or what people currently think. Have a good day/night. Guten Glück.


	49. Cuts and Bruises

"Listen up," commands Madam Sprout, as she stands with the first year Slytherins and Ravenclaws. "Today we're using the severing charm to cut Moly." She looks over at Draco, whose eyes are downcast in thought, "Pay attention, Malfoy. I know you'll appreciate this." She addresses the entire class again, "If you're afraid of soil, plants, or water you can also use the levitation charm to place them into the baskets beside you."

The class erupts in laughter, and Draco grumbles as he hears an orange haired Ravenclaw mutter to a friend, "Afraid of water and dirt. If someone were, that'd be terribly sad wouldn't it?" Her friend nods with a smile in total agreement.

"Now, now, quiet." After the murmuring fades she continues, "It's better to use the severing charm, as it's been proven that a plant will grow back faster with its use. As the Moly flower in front of you has exceptional properties, which can help create potions meant to defend against the effects of dark enchantments, it's important we get enough up to the school." Draco looks down at the potted flowers before him. They held petals of either pure white or vibrant snow-blue. "I'll give you a quick demonstration, as you won't learn the severing charm in your Charms class until next year."

After the demonstration the students are left to their own devices, and Draco looks down at the flowers. _They're actually kind of pretty for a plant, but if we cut them then they will die._

"Come on, now. We don't have all day."

Unfortunately, this is an individual assignment, so Draco will have to sever them himself. As he mutters the incantation he remembers the brown, frosted leaf he had picked up the week prior, but when the light green beam shoots from his wand the thought is forgotten. _The light is even more beautiful than the plant._

After the first pot is done and the flowers are placed in the basket, the teacher instructs the class to place them on a different table and take more from another table. At some point during the lesson Draco hears the brown haired Ravenclaw girl, who's on his right just after Harry, comment, "What's that from?"

He sees her looking at his arm. The sleeve had fallen down to his elbow during the incantation, revealing what's left of the bruise his father had unknowingly given him, and he quickly covers it up before glaring at her, "Earlier today one of your lot decided to knock into me with a big, hard book. Wasn't looking where she was going, apparently. I'm lucky that's all that happened."

"Oh. I'm sorry," she says, completely genuine, before looking again where the bruise would be if the sleeve didn't cover it. "There's this lotion that uses aloe vera. It helps with anything from sunburn to rashes to bruises." She looks back up with a sorry smile, "Madam Pomrey should have some."

Draco shakes his head and looks back down at the cut flowers, before he begins to place them within the brown wicker basket. He hears Harry respond for him, "Thank you." and after he's done speaking to her Harry whispers to him. "I've been with you all morning, and I haven't seen you get knocked into by anyone."

Draco mutters, "What's your point?"

Harry licks his lips, "Nothing. I just don't understand why you needed to make her feel bad like that."

"It's simple." He finishes with the flowers before looking at Harry, "When you make someone feel bad or tell them it's their fault, then they'll be quiet and stop asking questions." He turns back to the basket, "Really. I wasn't even thinking. It just came out." He feels Harry touch his shoulder, but before he can ask anything Draco says, "Don't touch me." With that Harry lets go, and Draco offers to take both of their baskets as Harry had done previously.

After the class finishes the professor announces, "Now, you're free to leave." Immediately, a hoard of students gathers to the greenhouse exit, but she continues, "Anyone looking for extra credit is free to stay and help me transplant the Moly, so we may yield more of a harvest next time they bloom."

Harry sees Draco lingering behind, "Aren't you coming?"

He shakes his head, "I think I'll stay for the extra credit."

Goyle comments, "Are you sure that's a good idea? You just skipped out on lunch yesterday. Do you really want to do it today too?"

 _Actually, I'm perfectly fine with using this as an excuse._ "Considering I'm failing, yes I'm sure." The words leave his mouth a little harsher than he had meant, and even he's a little surprised by it.

"You're failing," Harry softly comments in surprise.

Draco huffs, "Don't act like you didn't look at my grade. You heard them all laughing today like it's some kind of inside joke. 'Poor, little Draco is afraid of dirt.'" He spats, "It's pathetic. Just wait until my father hears about this."

"What would happen?" Harry asks hesitantly.

Goyle loudly interrupts, "We should get to lunch. You coming, Harry?"

"Yeah. I'll be right there." He waits for a moment to get an answer from Draco, but after the moment's over it's clear he's not getting one.

When the professor calls them over Draco comments, "You should go. I have work to do." and with that Harry leaves.

* * *

Half way through lunch the other extra credit students had already left, but Draco really needed to get his grade up. So, he stayed for the remainder of the hour, and the teacher didn't even ask him about lunch. It was good and peaceful, actually, but for some reason, even after washing his hands multiple times, he still feels dirty. He swears he can feel the invisible mites and bacteria crawling on his skin, making it nearly impossible to concentrate during his afternoon Charms and Transfiguration classes.

Now that the day is done, Draco is relieved to be able to steal himself away into the dorm's bathroom shower. He knows it's impractical, that there's no way anything other than his hands and arms could have become dirty, but he just needs to get it off. _I need to get it all off._ As he breathes in the steam of the piping hot shower, he scratches everywhere: his arms, his face, and his shoulders. It had to have been the longest shower he's ever taken, and when he finally feels clean enough he steps out.

He takes a towel to reveal the center of the mirror. Looking into it he sees his ghostly white skin has turned into a pink-tinged pale yellow, and examining further he notices a dark, red line running down the top of his arm. _It must be from the nail that chipped during Herbology._

There's a knock and Goyle asks, "Draco. Are you alright in there?"

"Yeah," Draco calls back, before he shuts the shower off. He usually lets it run a little while, as it makes people less suspicious of all the time he's taking, but clearly this time his shower had taken even longer than he would usually let it run. "I just need ten more minutes, then I'll be out. I promise."

"There you go making promises again. What are you doing in there?"

Draco shakes his head and licks his lips, knowing he had to say something honest for him to believe anything he could say. Looking in the mirror again, he realizes the truth wouldn't be that bad, "I got cut in the shower. I need to take care of it."

After a pause Goyle asks, "Do you need anyone to help you?"

"No," Draco answers as he wipes the cut with the towel. "It's not that bad. I'll be fine."

After getting dressed he hurriedly takes the eye cream, hair gel, and nail concealer from his bag. Technically, your hair is supposed to be completely dry before adding the gel, but he's never had an issue before. He puts the eye cream on afterwards, and then he grabs the nail concealer. _Nail de Perfecto. Got imperfect nails? Not anymore._ He'd have to cut them later when they'd hardened a little, but for now this would help cover his imperfections. Sadly, that doesn't include chipped nails.

After a few minutes there's another knock, "Are you done in there?"

"Yeah. I am." He puts the products back into his bag, before he opens the door.

"So, where's the cut?" Draco lifts his long sleeve to reveal the long line, and Goyle takes a look at it. "You didn't put a bandage on it."

Draco shrugs, "I couldn't find anything, so I just cleaned it up."

"Come on." He drags Draco back into the bathroom, "With your little problem this might just bleed through your clothes, and I know you don't want that." Draco stays quiet as Goyle immediately finds the kit beneath the sink. "How did you manage to do this, anyway?"

When Draco's handed the healing ointment he puts it on, "My nails chipped during Herbology while we were replanting, and I have a thing about dirt."

"Yeah. I was going to say, it looks like you cleaned yourself sore."

"That's what usually happens." He sees the different shapes of band aids in the kit and opts for a long, vibrant green one. It didn't fit perfectly, but he figures it's good enough.

After a moment Goyle asks, "Why didn't you tell me you were failing Herbology?"

Draco looks back at him, "Why didn't you tell me Professor Ghost was being such an ass to you and that you're about to fail his class?"

He looks away and into the sink, "I didn't think you'd care."

Draco puts the kit away, "Yeah. I can relate." and they each give one another a solemn look before heading back out to their living space.

* * *

\- I don't have much to say for this chapter. This chapter kind of contained situations where if you were to see them, then you may not know what to think. I do think, however, that the last bit where they both thought the other wouldn't care is a bit touching and that some people may be able to relate. Let me know what you think. There haven't been a lot of responses.


	50. Playing Along

"I can't believe our Potion's exam is Friday, already," Draco complains as they walk out of Snape's classroom. "We're first years. We shouldn't have to memorize anything."

Harry responds in unsureness, "I'm not sure Hermione would agree with you."

"Don't even bring that Gryffindor up. It's bad enough I have to compete with her, but apparently she's also Professor Binns prized student." He spats, "Making the rest of us look like rubbish and having that ghost compare her work to those who're nearly failing." He shakes his head, and then his mouth opens at the sight of the large tree in the stone hallway. _Trees are meant to be outside. What's that oaf bringing it in here for?_

They're forced to a standstill at the back of the crowd, and Goyle mumbles irritatedly, "We're going to be late."

Draco shakes his head before trying to push through the crowd, but he doesn't have the strength to get past, "Would you mind moving out of the way?"

Harry sees people begin to move, but it's unclear if they're doing it to oblige him or just because they were getting annoyed. Following him, they're able to see the front a lot better. Ron's trying to help Hagrid move the tree out of the way, although a bit unsuccessfully. Suddenly, it hits him, "I forgot."

"Forgot what?" asks Greg.

Harry watches Draco smirk, as he steps toward Ron. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley?" Ron glares at him. "Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose." He snickers, "That hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Harry steps forward and grabs Draco's arm, "That's enough." as Hermione tries to keep Ron from barging at Draco. Harry sees Draco give him a disbelieving look, as if he'd just ruined his fun or stopped something completely normal for no reason. "I forgot to tell you that if you stop making fun of Ron, then he said he'd stop calling you names."

Draco laughs in a low tone, "I don't care what that weasel calls me. He's nothing but a blood traitor. He deserves everything that's coming for him, and he knows it."

"Draco," Hermione begins. "Maybe you should—"

"Don't call me Draco," he seethes. "My friends call me Draco, and you're anything but you filthy, impure—"

Ron breaks free and grabs the front of Draco's robes, "That's enough."

Harry can't help but notice the fear that had crossed Draco's face, which is understandable. When Harry had very mildly pushed him, he had completely fallen backwards. Draco would get hurt if Ron was to actually try to push him, and that wouldn't be bad for just Draco but also his reputation. Suddenly, a tall, black figure swooshes in front of Harry, and after he blinks he recognizes it's Snape. "Weasley!"

Ron lets go, and Hagrid defends, "He was provoked, Sir. Malfoy was insultin' his family and then he started calling Hermione names."

"Be that as it may," Snape says in a smooth, cold voice, "fighting is against Hogwarts's rules." He looks from a worrisome Hagrid to the squirming redhead, "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more." He looks around the group before snarling, "Move along. All of you."

Draco mutters, "Come on. We're late for Herbology." before he brushes past the prickly tree, and the rest of them follow.

* * *

Harry notices a thin and short, red line crossing the side of Draco's neck, "Did the tree do that to you?"

"Do what?" Harry nods to the cut, and Draco wipes his hand across it. When he sees the smeared drop of blood he just blinks, not seeming to care. "Probably."

Harry watches as his friend just continues with the assignment, measuring the growth rate of the different plants they had been working with over the semester, but Harry finds himself unable to. "Doesn't it sting or hurt?"

Draco touches it again for a moment before continuing with the assignment, "I'm fine, Harry. Just continue doing what we're supposed to be doing. I don't need your grade to fall because of me."

Harry does as he's asked but still attempts conversation, "The holidays are coming up." Draco hums in a nonresponse. "Are you looking forward to them?"

Draco smiles a little too wide, "Someone would have to be completely insane to want to actually stay at Hogwarts during the height of winter, what with the cold hallways and freezing dungeons." He tries to laugh, "We all just need to feel sorry for those who do stay."

Harry hesitates, "You do remember that I'm staying, right?"

Draco's smile slips, and he mutters, "Lucky you." under his breath. Before Harry can comment he continues at a normal volume, "At least you'll be warm. If your clothes don't do you justice, then you may have the house to yourself." He measures a plant stem. "Take the large blanket and curl in front of the common room fireplace. I bet it'd be nice." He licks his lips, "Nice enough, anyway. Nothing beats the large area charmwork my father's manor has."

Harry frowns, "Isn't it your manor too?"

Draco stops for a moment, but then he continues, "Yes. Yes. It is."

"Draco," Harry begins to question.

He interrupts, "The stems have different measurements. One is four inches, the second is three point four inches, and the last is six inches. What do you think caused the difference?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugs before looking back up at his friend. "Draco. Your father, the holidays—" He breaks off and starts to whisper, "Are you okay?"

Draco forces a smile, "It's too bad you can't be there with me. The winter holidays are just brilliant. The purebloods hold this gala; there's food, entertainment, and a lot of people to impress. We dress in our best attire and—" His smiles fades, and he bites his bottom lip as he stares out at the plants, "I think this one was given more sunlight and water. It would have taken in the water to rejuvenate, and the sunlight would have given it energy to grow."

"Draco," Harry begins to lose patience.

"Not now," he whispers fiercely before looking around. "Not here."

Harry stops to think, before he looks around at all the people— all the witnesses. _If there is something wrong, he's not going to admit it here, is he._ Harry looks at the paper they're supposed to be writing on. "I agree with you. It must have had more water and sun than the others." He sees Draco become calmer, and for the rest of the class it's the work that's the focus.

At the end, however, Draco looks around as the people leave. He watches the professor as several students stand around her and ask questions about the upcoming exam on Thursday, and he continues watching them as he swipes the tape measure and moves it towards his robe's pocket. He becomes still and doesn't breathe; he's been caught, and now someone's hand is wrapped around his arm. He looks around and is a little relieved at the sight of Goyle, "Hey."

Goyle smiles as he lifts up Draco's arm, the tape measure still in hand, "What you doing?" His tone is friendly, non-accusing, and Draco can't help but play along.

He smiles back, "Nothing much."

Goyle nods, "Hmm." before he takes the measuring tape from his friend. "What's this?"

"Oh." Draco shrugs, "I don't know. I just found it."

Goyle's smile widens, as he nearly laughs, "Do you think that maybe you'd like to unfind it?"

Draco pouts, "Fine." and when he's given the tape measure back he sets it on the table.

His friend continues to smile, "Nice try. Maybe next time."

Draco smirks, "Perhaps."

Goyle shakes his head before nodding up, "So, you staying for extra credit, or are you eating lunch with us?"

Draco turns to look at the professor for a moment, before he turns back and frowns, "I don't think we were given that option."

"Then you don't have an excuse." He places his hand in the middle of Draco's back, "Come on. Here we go. That's it."

Draco shakes him off but continues walking, "I'm not ill."

Goyle gives him a look, "Would you like to rephrase that?"

Draco's eyebrows furrow, "I'm not sick. I can walk myself." and he does.

* * *

\- I love how playful this chapter is. You know you have a true friend when they find you stealing something you're not supposed to have, and their response is to ask you if you'd like to "unfind" it. I should mention that I am using a calendar to keep track of the time that passes in the story, and since things didn't make much sense I'm changing things up a little (like how the holiday break hadn't started yet and they don't have classes, or that they only seem to have a few classes). The way Hermione describes it in the book makes it almost seem like they get almost the entire month off, since their break would be starting a week before Christmas and they wouldn't return until after the new year. Maybe it makes sense to the British folk out there or to those who attend boarding school, but to make it make more sense to me and for the sake of plot I'm changing it so they have all classes until break and that their break is only two weeks. I hope this doesn't annoy anyone. Please R&R and have a good day/night. The next couple of chapters are going to be a bit interesting. I hope you've enjoyed.


	51. Religion vs Politics

"Aren't you going to eat anything?"

Crabbe smiles, "Yeah, Draco. Aren't you?"

"Ah-um. No." He takes a sip of his water as he feels eyes on him. "The solstice is this weekend. I've got to fast."

"Fast?" asks Harry.

"It's when you spend a certain amount of time without eating," explains Goyle. "His family does it a week before the summer and winter solstices. They somehow think that by sacrificing food that they will be more worthy of the goddess's approval." He looks sternly at Draco, "But you're exempt from it and you know it. You only need to do it for a day."

Draco responds, "It's about being pure. The less one indulges themselves the more pure they are. It makes it more likely for the goddess to be called upon to help. If I am to be worthy I need to be freed of the sin of self-indulgence."

"Even so," Goyle comments, trying to stay calm and not criticize, "Don't you have a checkup waiting for you when you get home?" Draco seems to contemplate this. "You should probably try to eat at least something… You don't need your father to get upset with you."

Draco bites his lip, "You're right. I probably should." and soon after he fills his plate up with an assortment of fruit and a slice of ham.

"So, you worship a goddess?" asks Harry in hesitation.

He nods, "Yes. Abundantia, the Roman goddess of prosperity. Each solstice we pray to her and give offerings, and in turn she helps us with what we ask. My mother and father like to visit her alter once every month just to continue offering wine and flowers."

"Does it work? I mean, are your prayers answered?"

Draco shrugs, "Father asks for something specific, Mother asks for our past transgressions to be forgiven and not to affect our futures, and I'm always told to finish off with praying for the family to stay wealthy and prosperous. So, basically, we get good jobs." He eats a slice of pineapple. "Our family's been praying to her for a long time. There's no way to know for sure, but it seems to work and I truly believe she does exist." He hears Harry hum in interest. "Who do you worship?"

"Me?" asks Harry, and his friend nods. "Oh, um. My family's Christian."

Draco's eyes widen, "You're not, are you?"

Harry licks his lips, "I pretend to be. I'm not. To be honest, I'm not sure what to believe."

"Oh, good," Vincent comments through a mouth of smashed potatoes. "We don't need any crazy witch hunters at our school."

Harry hesitates, "Most Christians don't hunt witches anymore."

"Because they don't know we exist," Greg inserts. "We stopped revealing our existence for a reason." He takes a drink of milk. "It's a big risk taking in the muggleborns like they do. We'd be a lot safer if they didn't."

Harry comments partly in disbelief, partly in defense, "Hermione's muggleborn."

"Yeah, and good for her for attending school and not becoming an obscurial," replies Greg, "but we're just lucky her parents are as accepting as they are. A lot of muggles aren't."

Vincent mumbles, "There have been a lot of problems. We just don't hear about them, because the Ministry covers it up. They have an entire department dedicated to erasing the minds of muggles, you know."

"No. I didn't know," Harry solemnly comments.

The others give each other a look, before Draco responds, "Don't worry about it. This is Hogwarts. As we've been told countless times, we're completely safe here."

* * *

\- I know this chapter was a bit short, but the cliffhanger was obviously intentional. Keep it in mind as you read the next chapter, and maybe you'll find some humor in it. I'm warning, the next chapter gets pretty sad.


	52. The Gift

When Harry wakes up on the eighteenth he's shaken from his grogginess by the sight of presents. "What?" He looks to his right and sees Draco going through his.

He sees Harry and smiles, "Morning." before continuing to separate things into two piles as he opens each gift.

Harry glances at his presents before looking back at Draco's sorting, "It's not Christmas already, is it?"

"Clearly not, as I'm still here."

Harry takes some presents from the foot of his bed, "Then what's up with these?"

Draco looks at him for a moment, "Hogwarts has made it a kind of tradition for people to send each other things a week before Christmas, as the students won't be able to give each other anything while they're away with family." He pauses, looking over a package suspiciously. "Although, I suppose you could always just send things by owl like my parents."

Harry watches Draco place the chocolate covered nuts in his top drawer. "But," he looks back at his own presents. "Who could these all be from? I don't know nearly so many people. Well, actually, I do, but most of them hate me."

Draco shakes his head, "You're the Boy-Who-Lived. If you weren't in Slytherin you probably would have gotten more." Harry looks over the names of the packages, and he ultimately decides to start with those he knows. Hermione gave him chocolate frogs, Hagrid an owl flute, and to his surprise Ginny Weasley had sent him even more chocolate frogs. Continuing on there's more candy, some letters of gratitude, and the occasional gift he can't even name. "You've gone through those fast."

Harry holds the last present in his hand, "Yeah. I guess." He looks back down at the parcel, before he opens the package. There's a silver cloak, and on top of it lays a note. _Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you._ Harry's about to take it out of the wrapping paper, but before he can Draco stops him with his hand.

He sits next to Harry and whispers, "It's valuable. Don't let anyone see it."

"What is it?" he asks.

Draco looks around before muttering, "An invisibility cloak. When you put it on you turn invisible. Until then it stays silver." Harry opens his mouth to say something, but before he can Draco moves back to his bed to open up his trunk. When he returns Harry sees the small vial clutched in his hand, before Draco hands it to him. "It will fit in here."

Harry shakes his head, "No. It's too big."

Draco nods down, "Trust me. Appearances can be deceiving." and with that Harry attempts to discreetly place the cloak into the vial.

He smiles, "It worked." before giving his friend a speculative look. "Your family didn't send this to me, did they?"

Draco laughs, "No way. If any of us could get our hands on something like that—" He shakes his head with a smile, "You're really lucky."

Harry nods, but then he sees Draco's bed covered in two piles of opened presents. He nods to them, "What's that about?"

"Oh," Draco's smile fades. "People like to send me rubbish. I'll only accept candy from people who I know will ask me about it later." He sees Harry nod. "Crabbe and Goyle usually split the pile, but you're welcome to some too if you like."

Harry smiles, "Yeah. Sure. Which pile is it?" Draco points to the one nearest to the grey wall. "Thanks." Harry sits down and looks over his options before addressing his friend again, "Do you think— would you mind if I just took the chocolate frogs? I'm collecting the cards."

Draco gestures to the pile, "Be my guest." and with that Harry takes every box of chocolate frogs he can find.

Crabbe walks over to the pile, "Don't mind if I do." and grabs a box of every flavor beans.

"Hey. What you doing?" asks Draco in condemnation.

"Um. Eating," he responds.

Draco shakes his head, "But I haven't finished sorting. I don't need to two arguing over everything again."

"Don't worry about it," Crabbe responds, as he takes another box and goes over to give it to Goyle. "There. Now we're even. No need to argue."

Harry watches Draco take an anxious breath, a hand to his forehead, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he shakes his head before standing. "I've just got to finish organizing these."

Harry looks at his watch, "Breakfast is in thirty minutes." He expects some sort of response, but all he hears is Blaise and Pike excitedly talking about one of their presents as they head out of the dorm. _Nott's not here. He's probably reading in the common room again._

A minute later Draco finally responds to Harry's comment, "I doubt anyone will be at breakfast today with all the rubbish they'd have received, but you're welcome to go if you wish."

Harry stays quiet, but then he notices something odd. Vincent is sweating, the unfinished box of beans having had spilled to the ground, and Greg has a hand on his shoulder as they mumble to each other. He calls out, "Something's wrong."

Harry stands, "What's happened?"

"I don't know." Greg places a hand on Vincent's forehead, "He's burning up. I think he's been poisoned."

Harry sees him shake and shiver, so he quickly turns to Draco, "Do you have a bezoar?" He doesn't respond, standing still in horror with a wide gaze. "Draco!"

He turns to Harry, "Huh, what?"

"Do you have a bezoar?" he stresses.

"Ah. Yeah," he says in shock before pointing to his trunk. "It's in there with the rest of my school stuff." Harry rushes over and searches the contents, thanking an unknown entity that Draco's just that organized. He finds it quickly and hurries over to Greg, whom is now keeping Vincent steady on the floor as he goes through convulsions. Given a look of desperation, Harry places the stone into Vincent's mouth and keeps his jaw shut until he swallows.

Soon after the convulsions stop and they take a breath of relief. They help Vincent sit up, leaning him against the end of a bed, and a minute later Greg asks, "Are you okay?"

Vincent still takes shivering breaths, "Better. I don't know. I still don't feel well."

They help him stand, before Greg looks at Harry, "Help him get to the hospital wing. We need to know if the poison's still taking effect." Harry nods, and with that he and Vincent slowly walk out of the dorm. Greg looks back at Draco who's now sitting down, and with a loud breath he sits down on the edge of a bed himself, "It must have been a fast acting poison." He sees his friend frown in silence, and he shakes his head before clenching his teeth. "Really, Draco," he nearly yells. "You ought to think about putting some skin on those bones." He shuts his eyes for a moment. "I mean, meat— meat on those bones, build up your fat reserves. If it had been you, you would've died."

"Sorry," Draco murmurs.

Greg takes another breath and tries to relax, before he continues with a softer voice, "What are you thinking?"

Draco looks at his presents, "That I should just throw all of the candy and food away." before eyeing the floor. "I don't feel very much like getting poisoned right now."

"Is that what you're planning on doing for next year as well?" Draco stays quiet, and Greg shakes his head. "What if it's not poison next time?" He thinks for a second, "What if next time someone sends you a very nice tie enchanted to strangle you? It's not like you'd throw that away. Would you?"

Draco mumbles, "Maybe that'd be a good thing." still eyeing the floor.

"What did you just say?" Greg annunciates with stress.

Draco looks up and licks his lips, shaking his head, "This is my fault. This wouldn't have happened if I didn't exist."

Greg stares at his friend intensely, "Draco. If you weren't here, it would have happened to someone else. You can't blame yourself for this."

He solemnly laughs, "Why not?" Greg doesn't answer, so Draco continues, "If I didn't exist, you wouldn't have known me. My father wouldn't have had you guys look after me. This wouldn't have happened."

"Okay," Greg cuts the air with his hand. "I'm going to stop you there. We're not your taste testers. We eat your sweets because we want to, not because we have to."

"Right," Draco mumbles, still not seeming very rest assured.

Greg thinks for a moment, "These are your father's enemies. If this is anyone's fault, it's his."

"No," says Draco with more confidence than Greg would like. "It's my fault. Father wouldn't have any weaknesses if it weren't for me."

He takes a big breath, a bit scared of his friend's words, "You're forgetting about your mother. He cares about her too. You're not his only weakness, if you can call love weakness."

"He doesn't love me," Draco whispers.

"Whether he does or not, you're still his only heir. He needs you. Don't think he'd be better off without you, because he's not. He'd be devastated." Draco looks up suddenly, seeming to be about to ask a question, but then he looks away as if he's changed his mind.

It's quiet and it stays quiet for a while. Greg opens his pocket watch and sees breakfast is about to start, but with another look at Draco he doesn't care. He'd use this time to make sure his friend knew he wasn't guilty. He'd keep him from the dark thoughts his mind had always seemed to possess, but as he's about to speak the door opens. It's Harry, and behind him is a still recovering Vincent. "Dumbledore wants to see us."

* * *

-Did you know that in German gift means poison? So, this chapter is a play on words. I know it was sad. I'm sorry... not really. It needed to happen. I hope you've enjoyed... Suddenly realizing how horrible it is for me to say that, considering the content of this fanfiction. I'll probably keep doing it anyway. You can enjoy reading something and still feel bad for the characters. That's it for tonight. The next two chapters involve a talk with Dumbledore and the introduction of the erised mirror. Hopefully this chapter has given you a clue as to what Draco most desires. Spoiler: He does see the mirror four chapters from now and I will be very sad (jokingly, kind of) if no one guesses what he may see before I post it. I'm really wanting to see what you guys think. Have a nice night.


	53. Aftereffects

\- I have to do a shout out to **PearsForGrandma**. (Assuming they're a she because 'grandma' is in they're username.) She's done a very good job in the review/response section, I think posting before I even asked anyone to. She also happens to be the only follower I have right now for Draco's Journal. I get it. Not everyone is into poetry and I post for that less often, so I won't complain; however, it's good to know someone's been keeping an eye out for new chapters. So, thank you very much. **In Other News** : I feel the need to say a few things before people bring it up themselves. Even though I am following the books for this fanfiction, there will be some quotes or some scenes from or resembling to the movies. An example of this is earlier on their first day of Potions class. In the book Snape asks Harry one question before proving "fame isn't anything" but I liked the movie scene better, because Harry was given three questions which he couldn't answer and thereby proving Snape right. The second thing I wanted to mention is that there will be things that are not "cannon" in this fanfic, obviously, and that even if J. herself has said something is not true that I may still implement it anyway just because the idea, characterization, or plot is just that good. I hope this doesn't make anyone mad. I thought it best to tell you in an author's note rather than have you sit dazed and confused as you read before deciding to type an angry response. I hope these things actually improve the quality of the fanfic and don't undermine it. For those of you who read the entire note, thank you. To the rest of you... well, I don't need to worry about that do I? Now back to the story. Enjoy!

* * *

Four chairs line the office in front of Dumbledore's desk, and they each take a seat. Draco sits on the middle right, as Harry sits on his right. Goyle sits on Draco's left with Crabbe to his left. "So," Dumbledore starts. "Draco. I hear the gift was originally meant for you." Draco nods. "Would you mind me asking who you think is responsible for this?"

Draco huffs a laugh, "Why don't we make a list of who wouldn't poison me? That may be quicker."

Goyle interrupts, "What he means is that his father isn't very well-liked. It's impossible to know who could have done it."

The headmaster's hands are clasped, "Yes. I thought as much. Am I to assume there was no note or signature of confession?"

"Who'd be dumb enough to do that?" Draco spats.

Dumbledore keeps an even expression, "You'd be surprised, Mr. Malfoy, how many dark wizards will leave their mark at a scene of a crime." Suddenly, Harry watches as Draco and Greg give each other a glance. The headmaster seems to notice this as well. "Ah. So, you have been well informed."

Greg nods, "Yes. We kind of had to be, as the Dark Lord has impacted our families in a very unfortunate way."

"Please, Mr. Goyle," says Dumbledore. "Call him You-Know-Who or Voldemort, but never the Dark Lord. That makes him out to be some kind of god, and I don't find that very becoming."

"Yes, Headmaster. Sorry, Headmaster," he seems to respond with sudden realization and even slight shame.

"Don't be sorry. I would expect as much from your families. You're probably just used to it, but I never want to hear that name in this school. Do you understand me?" With a look given to the three purebloods they each nod in response. He smiles, "Good. Now, I will be writing your parents to inform them of what had happened." Draco finds Dumbledore's eyes on him. "I will be asking your father to visit my office personally, so we may get a clue of who's behind this." Draco stays quiet, and the headmaster continues to address them all. "Classes will be starting soon. You'd better head off to your dorms and change into your school robes."

After that they stand with Harry and Crabbe heading off, but as Draco lingers behind Goyle stops to observe. Draco asks the headmaster, "How well are you with memory charms? How much do they affect you?"

"Not much, I'm glad to say. I've earned a lot of experience over the years." He looks at the student questioningly, "Why do you ask, Draco? Is there something you want to tell me?"

Immediately, Draco's mind wanders to the times his father had obliviated his problems away, including the checkup Draco had had earlier this year. Goyle sees Draco give the look that so many people assume to be his smugness. "No. Nothing at all."

With this the headmaster seems to be a bit disappointed, but he simply nods in response. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy. In that case, you're free to leave." Draco doesn't comment or nod, and when he leaves Goyle follows him.

* * *

"Glad you could join us," says Snape has Harry, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle walk into the classroom just minutes behind schedule. The professor doesn't look happy. "Dumbledore told me what happened," he begins, which leaves the four of them glancing at each other and wondering what they had done wrong. Snape's frown then turns into a smirk, "And I couldn't be more proud of a group of first years. You've all earned yourself a bit of extra credit."

"But you said the only way to get extra credit," Hermione complains, "is through the Potion packets."

"Ten points from Gryffindor," responds Snape in distastefulness.

"But that isn't fair," yells Ron. "What the bloodly hell could they have possibly done to deserve more credit than the rest of us?"

"Twenty," Snape shouts, and suddenly the class grows quiet. Hermione raises her hand hesitantly, and the professor almost rolls his eyes. "Yes, Ms. Granger."

"Sorry," she says timidly. "It's just— could you maybe tell us what they did that made you so proud?"

Snape slowly begins to walk over to her, "That's for me to know, and for your little, pretty head to ponder over." and he swiftly plucks a hair from her scalp.

"Ow!" she reaches to where the pain had occurred.

"Whoops," says Snape. "I most certainly didn't mean to do that." He walks to the front of the classroom. "But while I have Miss Granger's hair here, who would like to see what her dining habits consist of?" With looks of confusion, he holds up the hair in a horizontal line to explain, "Three months of food and drink can be read from this length of a hair." He gestures to a clear potion, but when he places Hermione's hair into it, it dissolves and the liquid has turned blue. "Hmm. Miss Granger, your eating habits are better than I had expected. I'm impressed."

"My parents are dentists," she explains, and as she does Harry sees Draco rolling his eyes. Clearly he's heard this before.

Snape nods before lecturing the class, "The ideal color for most wizards is blue, but you should be fine so long as it's not brown. Brown is the worst color there is." After no one tries to debate him on this matter he continues, "Vegetarians will see their color to be more of a green, and those who eat a little too much bread will see a sickly yellow color. Blue just means your system is well-balanced."

"Excuse me, Professor," a Gryffindor says as he raises his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Longbottom. You've got a question?"

"Well, not exactly." He wavers, "I was just wondering why you didn't use yourself for this demonstration."

It takes a second for him to respond, "The point of this is to learn what this potion does and how to later make it, not to assess your teacher's eating habits." A few murmurs break through the quiet. "Besides," he faces the blackboard. "No one wants to see whether their teacher lives a healthy lifestyle or not." Suddenly, the class erupts in yeses and Snape regrets having said anything. "Quiet," he yells before spinning around. When the commotion dies down he responds, "Whoever is so curious about me, feel free to raise your hand." and in an instant too many are raised. He rolls his eyes, "Fine." and quickly sets up a new potion.

Ron smiles, "What color do you think it will be?"

"It has to be blue," speculates Hermione. "He's a teacher."

Ron huffs, "Blimey, Hermione. It's like you think all teachers are saints."

"Well, it's definitely not going to brown," she says confidently, but as she sees the reservation Snape seems to have to put his hair in the potion, she's suddenly unsure of herself.

With one motion Snape lets the hair free, and it falls into the clear liquid. There's murmurs followed by shocked silence, as the color turns to a deep red. "This," Snape says quietly as he turns to the class, "is the result of a diet high in lean meat and red wine."

"Really?" asks Harry. "Because all I ever see you eat are those red suckers."

The professor grits his teeth, "Would you like your extra credit to be removed, Mr. Potter?" Harry merely shakes his head. "Then mind your mouth and stay quiet."

He turns back to the class, "Would anyone else like to display any accusations?" No one says a word. "Now," he says, seeming to pretend the last demonstration never happened. "You will find the potion on page seventy-two. It's time for you to assess your own eating habits. Girls tend to have longer hair, so they will have a fuller picture. Boys, your hair is shorter, so don't be discouraged if your potion's a bit murky from the candy you had this morning." The class laughs. "Yes. Yes. Get to work. Your curiosity has already reduced your time by ten minutes."

Towards the end of class Draco stares at his potion. _No wonder why my hair is brittle. There's hardly anything here._

Harry sees his lack of a smile, "What's wrong?

"Nothing," Draco lies. "I'm just glad I didn't completely fast this week, or else it may have been completely clear." He knows the potion has gathered more than just that week. _The professor was clearly trying to be funny with that candy comment. Nutrients don't get completely absorbed that fast._

Harry smiles, "Yeah, but it would have been funny if it'd been clear. At least you would have gotten a lot of attention." He watches as Draco realizes this and quickly looks around in paranoia. "But you don't like attention really, do you?"

He just shakes his head, and as he does Snape comes to their table. Harry watches as he discretely drips a few drops of green into the original distilled army green. "Not bad, Mr. Malfoy." However, Harry sees that when he reaches the table conjoined to theirs which Greg and Vincent sit at that he does nothing to change their potions, despite the fact that they both contain a very dark brown. "Mr. Goyle. Mr. Crabbe. May I suggest you both to assess your dining habits over break? That way the next time we do this you won't have such a horrid color." Professor Snape announces to the class, "We'll be doing this at the end of next semester as well. I advise for anyone who dislikes what they see to change it immediately."

Draco looks back at his bright, emerald green potion, commenting evenly, "It's really beautiful." as he stares at it.

Harry agrees, "Yeah. It is." as he observes the sad expression on Draco's face.

Goyle whispers, "Do you think you'd like to aim for that for next semester?"

It takes a minute for Draco to answer, "Maybe, but I'm not sure I can."

"Why not?" asks Harry, but his friend doesn't answer.

Draco spends the rest of the class hour staring into the green that should have been his. _Clearly, Snape wanted me to see this. It's almost like he knows what's going on with me… Wait a minute. Could he be… a Legilimens?_ He finds Snape with his eyes and watches him suspiciously, before he's met with a sly smile. _I hope not._


	54. The Night Life

That night Harry finds himself unable to sleep. He just can't help but think of his invisibility cloak, and he wonders who his father could have trusted so much to keep it for him. Thinking about it, he doesn't know much of his parents' past. _I'd like to know, I think._ Suddenly, he feels a surge of energy and he rises to his feet. _The note said 'use it well'. I'm not about to just let it sit in a vial. I have to use it._

Harry opens up his clothes drawer and searches for the small container. After a few minutes, as he rummages through the messy space, he worries he may have lost it, but then he sees the green light shimmer on the glass. He takes the vial out and opens it, slowly pulling out the silver cloak, which appears as spider silk in their oddly lit chamber. "What are you doing?" he hears Draco mumble in tiredness.

Harry thinks for a minute. _Where am I going?_ And then it hits him; Hermione had just speculated the other day that the book they're looking for may be in the restricted section, as they still haven't found a reference anywhere else. Apparently, earlier Ron had asked her why they don't just ask the librarian, but Hermione told him that it would be unwise to do that as the thief is someone in the castle and word about their research can't get out. "I'm going to the library."

Draco gives him a look, "What are you wanting to use the library for in the middle of the night?" but then his expression changes, as if he just came up with a good few reasons himself.

"I just want to see if I can find something. I'd ask you if you'd like to come, but I thought as this is my first time with the cloak that I should go myself. It was my dad's after all."

"It was your father's?" Draco asks in mild surprise. Harry nods. "I understand. Just make sure you don't get caught. Not only would we get points taken away, but they may decide to confiscate your cloak as well."

Harry takes this in, not having thought about that before. "Don't worry. I'll be careful." With that he slips on the oversized cloak and heads for the library. It wouldn't be that hard to do, as the library is only on the first floor in the tower that overlooks the quidditch field. What makes this hard for Harry is the darkness, and he finds himself a bit scared as he moves past weird shadows. At one point he even thinks he sees a statue of armor move, but after staring at it for a moment he changes his mind and assumes it to be his imagination.

When he enters the huge library he finds the room even darker with the bookshelves blocking the moonlight from most of the windows, but luckily he sees a lantern and turns it on. He has to carry it outside of his cloak or else the light is also invisible, and even though he can feel himself touching it, the sight of a detached hand carrying a lantern freaks him out even more. He tries to ignore the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach and takes a deep breath, before he moves down to the large, blocked off area at the back of the library.

This is the restricted section. Harry notices most of the books are old and tattered, and that many aren't even in English. Some of the shelves are lined with dust, and he swears he can hear the books whispering about how there's an intruder in their mist. He ignores this, and he desperately tries to find a book that's in English. On the bottom shelf he spots a black and silver cover, and he reaches for it. However, when he does the book shakes so horribly that he drops it, and as it opens to the worst screeching scream Harry's ever heard, Harry drops the lantern as well in his useless attempt to cover his ears. The lantern breaks, but he still manages to shut the book with his foot. Taking a relieved breath, he thinks he's in the clear, but then he realizes it's anything but safe. He can already hear Filch's disapproving footsteps heading this way. "Come on, Mrs. Norris," he yells creepily. "It looks like we have some punishments to give."

 _This is bad. Didn't Draco say something earlier about some animals being able to see through enchantments? Wouldn't an invisibility cloak certainly count, if that is the case?_ Quickly, Harry moves in the darkness, away from the sound of the cat's high-pitched bell. As the sounds grow closer, Harry finds himself backed against the stairs leading to the second floor corridor. He knows he can't risk making any noise, so he holds his breath and stays as quiet as he can until Filch leaves. There's no doubt he'd come back with someone to investigate. Harry tries to feel his surroundings, as he moves up the cracked stone stairs. The loud slapping his footsteps make against the stone seems to echo off of the walls, and he's grateful he decided to wait.

By the time he feels his way up the unrailed stairs, nearly tripping over his cloak countless times, Harry hears Filch again. "You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library." He cackles like an old witch, "Restricted section."

Peeking around the corner Harry sees Snape, and he feels something ominous sink into his being. _I don't care if the other houses think he gives us special treatment. If he finds out I'm risking his own house points, I'm done for._

"Well. They can't be too far," Snape comments more intensely than Harry would have expected. He guesses Snape just really doesn't like students snooping around at odd hours. He sees Snape about to give Filch directions, but then Harry sees him raise a long, thin finger.

 _He really should get those nails cut._

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" asks Filch. "I don't hear nothing."

"That noise." Snape seems irritated as he seethes, "Someone breathing."

Harry's eyes grow wide as he covers his mouth. _He couldn't possibly mean me._ He watches as Snape points to the stairs, and he instinctively decides that he's not sticking around to hear anything else. Walking quietly down the hall, when Harry reaches halfway down the corridor he begins to run. He holds up the cloak the best he can, trying desperately not to trip as he runs up the next flight of stairs. The third floor contains the Charms classroom. _But won't the doors all be locked?_

Harry hears Snape prompt, "Come on. They went this way." as it echoes up the stairs.

"Well, how can you be so sure?" asks Filch.

It suddenly grows quiet and Harry looks around urgently for a place to hide. Suddenly, a door catches his eye. _Someone's forgotten to lock up a classroom._ He hurries over to the door, but as Snape is now seen at the top of the stairs he has to slide through the small opening. Now inside, Harry understands why it hadn't been locked. _Clearly, this classroom hasn't been used._ He hears the cat's bell ring loudly, so he backs up against the wall. Harry takes a few breaths, trying to calm his heart down from the adrenaline pumping through his system. As Snape opens the door, Harry holds his breath again and begs himself to stay quiet.

"See. There's no one here," snarls Filch. "We should be moving on."

"Shh," says Snape as he holds up his finger. "I hear something."

Mrs. Noris meows as she comes into the room, and Harry begins to freak out as she steadily comes closer to him. She meows a second and a third time, and now Harry knows she can see him. "Would you quiet that insolent cat?" Snape yells, clearly frustration. "I'm trying to listen." With another meow, Snape takes another one of his deep and noiseless, shallow breaths, before he scans the room with his black eyes. "Forget it. There's no one here." He turns around and sweeps out of the room, "Come on. Let's go. We should check the west tower. I bet one of those Gryffindors are behind this. No doubt those Weasley twins."

After Harry can no longer hear Snape's footsteps echoing through the halls, he takes a gasping breath. He doesn't know how long he had been trying to hold it for. All he knows is if the professor had been there another moment, he would have broken. _I really shouldn't leave just yet._ He shakes his head. _I swear, he has ears like a bat._ Taking another breath of relief, Harry looks around the room. There are desks with chairs piled on top, but there are also countless boxes and dusty looking artifacts. Out of everything, the thing that catches his eye the most is the brilliantly tall, gold mirror. He steps close to the ordinate frame, moving his hand along the inscription of unknown language. _It looks old. How could something so old look so cool?_

Harry smiles. He knows animals can sense through invisibility cloaks now, but what would happen if he were to stand in front of a mirror? It becomes quite a shock, as he sees people behind him in the reflection, but he knows no one is really there as he turns around. He looks into the mirror again, noticing these people look rather similar to him. There's a man with glasses and his hair, there's woman with his bright lake-colored eyes, and there's even an old man who has his same knobby knees. _These are my parents. This is my family._

He takes careful observation of his parents. He really did look so much like his dad; he had the same black hair and a similar facial structure, except his father's eyes are hazel. Looking at his mom, Harry sees that her eyes are very similar to his, but her dark auburn hair is even more striking. He touches the mirror, so much wanting to take away the sadness his mom displays with a tear running down her face. _Could they really be them? Have they somehow been trapped behind this mirror? Or, maybe, could these be their ghosts._ He stares for a while, trying to memorize each feature of each family member, but when he hears a sound he's shaken from his thoughts. He has to get back to the dungeon. _Hopefully, Snape's gone to bed. Really, I mean, even teachers have to sleep. Right?_

He puts back on the cloak that had slid off of him, before he walks down toward the dungeon. It's fine at first; no one's even seen in any of the corridors, but while walking down in the dungeon his steps slow at the sight of Snape. For such a thin man he's rather strong, pinning the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor against the stone wall. "You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell."

Quirrell stutters, "I don't know what you're talking about." Harry takes a few steps closer, observing just how scared the teacher seems to be.

"Don't play games with me," Snape seethes before knocking him harder against the wall, and Harry finds himself grimacing at how much pain that must have caused the back of his head. "I know what you're doing, and I'll put a stop to it." Suddenly Snape looks in Harry's direction, and immediately Harry covers his mouth and backs away, cursing himself for not remembering how sensitive Snape's hearing is. Snape snatches the air out from in front of him, seemingly surprised as to not having caught anything, but after a moment his arm's back on Quirrell. "Trust me. You don't know who you're messing with." Harry takes the opportunity to back up against the other wall, slowly sliding by on his way back to the dorms.

When he enters the dorm and puts the cloak away the sound causes Draco to toss over and wake. "Hey."

Harry starts a smile, "You're not a very deep sleeper, are you?"

Draco shrugs, "I don't know. Depends, I guess. How was it?"

Harry takes a loud, stressful breath, "Those books are alive. Never touch them."

This strikes Draco's interest, and he sits up more, "Where did you wander off to? The restricted section?"

"Well…" Harry trails off.

Draco huffs a laugh, "I could have told you the books there are weird. You should have told me what you were planning."

"Well, I'll know better for next time."

Draco notices the realization on Harry's face, "What is it?"

Harry sits down and whispers, "I found this mirror. My parents are in it."

Draco shakes his head, "But Harry, your parents are dead. That's impossible."

Harry licks his lips, "You have experience with dark magic, don't you?" He's given a dumbfounded look. "Right," Harry continues. "It could be possible, though, couldn't it, for them to have been trapped in the mirror, or their spirits or whatever?"

"Harry," Draco says seriously as he sits up to the edge of his bed. "You seem a bit—" He bites his lip in contemplation. "Excited, a bit happy."

"Why shouldn't I be?" Harry asks a bit too defensively. "They're my parents."

Draco takes a sad breath, "Harry. Your parents are dead. If what you're saying is true, if they've somehow been trapped in there, then that would mean their spirits have been at unrest for all these years. Someone may even be trying to harness their power, draining them of every ounce of magic and soul."

Harry frowns, "I didn't think of it like that."

His friend nods, "Where's this mirror, in the library?"

"No. It's in an empty classroom." Harry looks to the floor for a minute before looking back up, "Would you, maybe, like to go with me tonight, sometime after dinner?"

"You know I would." He grabs Harry's hands, "Everything will be okay. We have Astronomy, but we can sneak off afterwards. You can show me then."

Harry solemnly smiles, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." With a glance at their hands, Draco pulls away, "What else are friends for?"

* * *

\- A chapter almost completely and utterly from Harry's point of view. I hope those of you who were complaining before are a little happier now. I really like Snape in this chapter, just because I can kind of relate. My breathing tends to be shallow, unless I'm frustrated or if something's wrong, and I can just get really ticked off when I hear people breathing (No offense to the normal/heavy breathers out there). That's probably why my friends tend to be shallow breathers as well. I know it's irrational, but it's like listening to someone tapping their pencil while you're trying to read/work. It can be just that annoying sometimes, or all of the time. It depends. I just really hate people, but I absolutely love you guys. I hope you've enjoyed. The next two chapters will most likely be posted tomorrow night, so if anyone else wants to display their guess as to what Draco most desires you should do that now. Güten Gluck.


	55. Blood Money

"You were out last night," Hermione whispers fiercely.

Ron shakes his head, "What, did Malfoy make you do it?"

"No one made me do anything," Harry comments, a bit flustered. "I just couldn't sleep, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to look for anything on Flamel, restricted or otherwise." They both give him weird looks. "What? I was trying to help."

"But Harry," says Hermione, the worry overshadowed by her seriousness. "You could have been caught. If you were, everyone would know what we're doing." She sees a black haired Ravenclaw give them an odd look, so she continues at a lower volume, "We need to be careful."

Harry's not going to get into it with her. _To convince her I was careful I'd have to tell her about the cloak._ He looks at Ron. _And he's not exactly trustworthy. I'll have to tell her later when we're alone._ He licks his lips, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to help."

Hermione lets out a deep breath, "Harry. It's fine. Can you at least tell me that you found something useful?"

"There was something." They huddle closer, and Harry continues, "I saw Snape. He was being like a big bully to Quirrell."

"So," says Ron.

Harry takes a deep breath, "He said Quirrell didn't want him for an enemy. He told Quirrell that he didn't know who he was messing with." Their faces are still blank. "Don't you see," Harry states urgently. "Snape is after whatever Fluffy's guarding. It's just what we thought before. That's why he nearly killed me. He must have thought I knew something." He looks down at the table. "See how it all makes sense?" He looks back at Hermione, "You were there with me on Halloween. You saw the bite marks. You heard him blame Quirrell for letting the troll in. I bet you anything that Quirrell knows what Snape is doing, that he's trying to stop him, and Snape must have been threatening him not to say anything last night."

"It's a bit thick. Don't you think?" asks Ron.

"Quirrell is the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Hermione reminds him. "It would make sense that he'd want to keep someone from stealing something so powerful that requires a three-headed dog to guard it." She turns to Harry, "But we need proof. All we have right now is circumstantial evidence."

Ron makes a face, "Isn't that enough? Isn't _all_ of this 'circumstantial' evidence enough?"

"No," says Hermione. "The holidays are coming up. I will be away with my parents." She looks between the two of them. "If you still think Snape is the thief when I return, then I'll search his classroom myself. Until then, our priority should be to figure out what that dog's guarding." Harry and Ron frowns, but neither of them argues with her. She smiles, "Now. Something I've been meaning to do." She picks up a large book and hits Harry on the shoulder with it.

"Ow!" Harry rubs his arm.

"Would you like to tell me what in the world was going on with Malfoy the other day?" responds Hermione with a stern look.

"What? When?"

"You know when." When Harry seems clueless she explains, "While Hagrid was bringing the Christmas tree into the castle. Why was Malfoy so mean to us?"

Harry raises his arms defensively, "Let me just say." He looks at Ron, "He doesn't really like you that much." He looks back at Hermione, "You know he likes his reputation the way it is. He told you himself that he can't be seen talking to you, but considering you're one of the only girls he does talk to I'd say you're on his good side."

"I'm on his good side," Hermione drawls out doubtfully. "He called me filthy, impure."

Harry snickers, and then Ron narrows his eyes. "It's not funny, Harry."

"No. Trust me. It is." He smiles at Hermione, "Draco thinks purity is determined by how much you don't self-indulge, by how much you don't eat."

"What?" asks Hermione in alarm, and Harry swears she seems a bit worried.

He shrugs it off, "He's just a bit religious, I guess. His family fasts a week before each solstice, and then they pray or have a ritual or something like that."

"He didn't, did he?" she asks.

"Who cares if he did?" Ron remarks. "I'm more interested in what faith he follows. I bet it's a mighty horrible one."

Harry squints his eyes at Ron, his teeth showing, "Shut up."

"No," Hermione smiles. "Let's humor him. What is Draco's religion?"

"I don't know if we would call it a religion," he gestures between himself and Hermione. "But his family worships the Roman goddess of prosperity."

"Hmm," she says. "Well, I guess it makes sense with them being rich and all."

"I'd say," Ron grins as he leans back in his chair. "I knew it had to be bad."

Hermione and Harry give each other a look, before Harry asks, "What's so bad about it?"

"Why, don't you know?" There's no response, so Ron laughs, "Roman gods require sacrifices. All of their riches—" He cuts himself off and places a hand to his chin, "What's that muggle phrase again. Oh. Yeah." He looks at them knowledgably, "It's blood money."

Hermione huffs a disbelieving laugh, "But most pagans don't do sacrifices anymore."

Ron's eyebrows rise, "With how traditional Malfoy's family is, do you honestly think they don't?"

Hermione seems to contemplate this, but Harry immediately bypasses the question. "It doesn't matter. It's only twice a year, and it's not like they're sacrificing humans." He looks at Hermione, "Even my aunt and uncle only ever described pagans as people who sacrifice animals to Satan, which obviously isn't true, but if they are sacrificing anything it would only be animals. Right?"

"Yeah," Hermione murmurs.

"Doesn't make it any more right," spouts Ron.

Harry gives him a look, "You won't mind if I ask who you worship, then."

"Me?" asks Ron in shock, before he laughs. "My family doesn't worship anyone. To us holidays are just a time dedicated to those you care about. There's no other special meaning behind it."

"Must be nice," Harry glowers.

"Why? Who does your family worship?" he inquires.

"God." He sees Ron's confusion, "They're Christian."

He half huffs, half snorts, "Remind me never to spend the holidays with you."

Harry retorts, "With the way things are going I don't think that will be an issue."

"Actually," Hermione interrupts. "Since you're both spending the holidays here this year, I'm expecting you both to work together and pick up a book." She sees them about to argue excuses, "No exceptions." She looks between the two of them, "Hagrid was right. This is adult business, so if you two still want to keep this powerful object safe, then I expect you both to stop behaving like children."

"And if we don't?" Ron counters.

She glares at him, "Then if someone dies, you will be the one at fault."

* * *

\- So, I was also going to have them talk about Snape's hair potion thing, but the conversation didn't go that way. If it had gone that way Harry would have had to tell them that Draco's was army green, and then they'd have asked what that means. Harry's response would have been, "That he's a vegetarian who eats meat." I think it would have been funny, but sadly I was unable to include it. In any case I hope you found the chapter at least interesting. The mirror is next! If you have not displayed a guess yet, this is your last chance!


	56. The Eternal Sleep

\- Don't be too worried about the title. No one dies in this chapter. It's just that this chapter is a two-parter and I had a hard time coming up with a name that suites both parts. If anyone has any brilliant ideas, then feel free to leave your title suggestion with your response. Ideally, I think the name of this chapter would be better for something that may or may not happen down the road, and so I'd like to save it. For now, though, this is the best I could come up with. I must warn, this chapter is just a little sad. It's probably not sad enough for a warning, but I felt the need to leave a warning anyway. As always, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

After Astronomy that night Harry guides Draco to the classroom used as storage, while they hide under the invisibility cloak. As soon as they enter the room, Harry shuts the door and takes the cloak off of them. He notices Draco isn't nearly as impressed with the space as he had been, and he seems a bit hesitant to even move around the room.

Draco looks at him, "It's a bit filthy, isn't it?"

"It's just dust," says Harry. "You won't die if it touches you."

He gives his friend a look, "Ha, ha. Very funny."

Harry ignores this and walks up to the mirror. Looking straight into it, he sees his parents are still there. He touches his mom's face as he had the night before, "She looks so sad."

Draco walks up next to him, but all he sees is Harry's reflection and the front of the classroom as its background, "I don't see anything."

"You don't?" Harry looks at him in surprise, before Draco shakes his head. "Here." He moves Draco to where he had been standing. "Do you see them now?" Harry notices his friend's long gaze, but it seems a little more contemplative than horrified. "What is it?"

Draco mutters, "I don't see anything." as he continues to stare into the mirror.

"You mean it just looks like a regular mirror to you?" asks Harry, a bit shocked.

Draco shakes his head, "No. I mean, I literally don't see anything. I have no reflection, and this classroom doesn't exist."

"What?"

Draco takes a deep breath before forcing himself away from the sight. He looks at Harry, "It's a trick mirror, and I've just got to say it's the meanest mirror I've ever seen." He spats, "Showing you your dead family, telling me I don't exist." He shakes his head before grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him towards the door, "Come on. We shouldn't be here."

Harry shakes his hand free, "Just hold on a minute." and during the quiet he sees the pale blue of the moon light up Draco's face. _He looks scared._ "You're trying to tell me it's only a trick mirror?"

Draco looks around for a moment, "Yeah, Harry. That's the whole point. Your parents are dead and I'm still alive, and the mirror thought it would be funny to show the opposite." His friend doesn't speak, so he grabs the silver cloak from him, "Come on. Let's go."

Harry shakes his head, "No. Not until you tell me what's got you so worked up about this." He sees Draco look away. "Come on. Just tell me, and then we'll go."

Draco lets out a breath, trying to calm himself, before he looks straight into Harry's eyes, "To be honest. I try my best not to think about what it would be like for the world not to exist, or for me not to exist." He sees Harry's eyes glimmer with a sadness, or perhaps pity, and suddenly he wishes he hadn't said anything at all. Apparently he hadn't used the voice he had intended to, which makes sense because this was making him feel quite fearful. "May we go now?"

Harry nods before grabbing the cloak, "Yeah. We can go now."

* * *

The following day Harry and Draco don't speak much to each other. In fact, although Draco notices Harry trying to prompt him to speak several times, he just finds himself not caring enough to do so. _Besides._ He pulls the Potion's book out and ignores his friends, as they try to coax him down for breakfast. _I've got to memorize this._ Muttering the recipe out loud, his friends seem to take it as a sign to leave him alone. So, he spends the rest of breakfast uninterrupted as he dreadfully tries to memorize the recipe for what seems like the hundredth time. He's tried to before today, of course, but he just hasn't been able to do it. _Unlike Goyle. He wasn't kidding when he said he heavily depends on memorization. He was able to memorize the entire thing within the first couple of days… Well, except when he found out he had accidently flipped a couple steps around, but still._ Draco shakes his head and tries to concentrate on the potion recipe again, but then as he reads _red valerian root_ he is suddenly reminded of the red book he had read during his first time fasting. _It had been so easy to just ignore… No._ He shakes himself from his thoughts. _I'm not doing this again. I've got an exam to pass. Now, let's just read this without falling off track._ He takes in a deep breath, holds it, and then slowly releases it. _We can do this. I know we can._

When Draco reaches Potions he finds Harry asking him, "Hey. What's up?" in the very innocent and happy voice he seems to use when he's after something.

Draco shakes his head and ignores him, even though they still sit next to each other. _I'm going to fail. No, you aren't. Don't say that. You don't want that Granger girl to take everything from you, do you?_ He leans out front to get a good look at her and sees her actually holding a smile, before he places a hand to his aching head. Draco's not feeling any more confident than he had before his morning study session, and his lack of sleep the last couple nights haven't really been helping either. He inwardly groans during the first person's exam, as the strong stench begins to upset his stomach. He stares behind the boy and at the clock, wishing he could use the time to study, but he knows the professor wouldn't approve. _Oh, no. He'd rather watch us laugh or feel terrible at the sight of those doing the exam up front. "That's us,"_ he hears a voice whisper in his head, as the short, ginger kid's potion explodes right in front of him.

He groans again but this time out loud, and suddenly a dark shadow hovers over him. "Would you like to say anything, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco manages to smile a smirk through his tiredness, "Yeah, actually. Will this school just let anyone in?" He finds himself laughing, "It seems like it." and then he hears a few other students laugh as well.

Snape hums, "Perhaps you'd like to show the class what a real wizard can do?" Draco raises his eyebrows in question, before the professor nods. "Alright," Draco stands and sluggishly walks to the new cauldron, listening as select Gryffindors complain about how careless and confident he is.

He swallows hard and clears his throat, as he takes a moment to remember the required ingredients. _You can do this._ He picks out the ingredients, one by one, and places them beside the cauldron. _Add crushed wormwood to cauldron. Stir slowly. Chop valerian root, add to pot, and apply high heat._ Draco looks at the settings and soon realizes why the boy before him had failed. The cauldron being used was meant for quick heating and cooling, therefore making potions that typically take hours only take minutes. _The book says to use the high setting, but I should use the medium setting._ Watching Snape smirk, Draco finds the given flask which will contain the flobberworm mucus and adds some to the steaming pot, before he stirs it as fast as he can without spilling.

After the stirring is done he lowers the heat for a couple seconds, before he waves his wand over it. Looking at the next part, he sees it needs to brew at this lower temperature for a whole seventy minutes, and it's here he find himself laughing. Hermione comments, "What's so funny?" but the professor shushes her.

Draco yawns through a laugh, as he waits seven minutes for the potion to calmly brew into the cooler substance. He finds himself smiling tiredly at many people who seem to be confused with his extended amount of time not doing anything. Soon, though, he chops the sopophorous bean and adds it to the cauldron, before he turns the heat back to medium and stirs quickly. It's here that he sprinkles petals and essence of nettle into the hot cauldron, before he waits a minute, stirs it, and finishes it with the wave of his wand. As he stares into the dark purple, he feels hands fall to his shoulders. "Well done, Draco." The professor raises a hand before continuing more loudly for the class to hear, "This is quite the accomplishment. Our very own Mr. Malfoy has managed to brew Sleeping Draught, a second year potion, properly for his first year, first semester exam." The class gives blank stares with Hermione's mouth gaped open. "Ah, yes," he directs to Draco. "There's vials in the back if you want to keep it."

"Professor?" Hermione raises her hand as Draco finds the organized box of vials.

"Yes, Miss Granger."

She puts her hand down, "Well, surely you're not going to let him keep it."

"Oh, but surely I shall," retorts Snape with his snake-like smile.

"Does that mean," asks Finnegan, "that we all get to keep our potions?"

"It most certainly does not," the professor annunciates in a near shout.

Draco ignores the students' complaints, as he fills countless vials with the sleeping potion he had made. For a moment he pictures himself taking it all and wonders what effect that would take, but then he shakes himself from the thought. _No. I'm doing this so I can actually sleep well. I'm not doing this to never wake up. One vial should do._

Snape walks up behind him and whispers into his ear, "With your weight, you may want to try half of a vial instead." and then he finds himself overfilling the vial he holds.

He turns to Snape, "But how—"

"Like I've said before," the professor interrupts. "I know everything." Draco gulps, and Snape smiles evenly. "Finish up, will you? They've all got exams to take."

* * *

\- Honestly, I wasn't trying to trick you by asking you to guess what Draco would see. Like I said, I just wanted to see if anyone could get close. PearsForGrandma, your guess was very nice. I liked the thought of him seeing his father proud of him. Unfortunately, there's two reasons why that couldn't be (in my opinion) something he'd see. 1) He already feels like he will never win. Sure, he's trying to get good grades and everything to impress his father, but he doesn't expect it to happen and he isn't going to let himself desperately want something he feels may never occur. 2) I think it's the subconscious thoughts we fall back on time and time again that matter the most. So, even if Draco really wants his father to approve of him, the subconscious thoughts would overpower that idea. It's really sad and I'm sorry he couldn't have seen something happier, but for some reason when I was trying to think of what Draco would see one of the first things that entered my mind was a world in which he didn't have to deal with anything; this would be a world that didn't have people to impress, horrible external occurrences, or himself to scrutinize. That's why he literally didn't see anything in the mirror, is because more than anything he wants all the drama, problems, and expectations to go away both on a personal level and in the world which surrounds him... There is a good thing about this. In the book Dumbledore says that the happiest man would see only himself as he is, and now you know what the opposite of that would be. Some of you had to have been curious, and if you weren't before you probably would have been once to question came up. Now, I hate you leave you all on a sad chapter, but that's all you're getting tonight. Sorry. I'll see if I can post more tomorrow night, but the chapters I've got written are really new and I'm afraid if I post there'll be way more mistakes than necessary... I suppose I've already read them twice, so I could maybe post them, but I'd probably be more comfortable waiting a couple nights to iron out some of those stupid mistakes I sometimes miss anyway. Either way, I hope you're liking the story. Have a good day/night/few days. I'll see you later.


	57. If Anything Happens

-Hello again. For the reviewer by username **A** I'm sorry that I haven't posted sooner. I know you said you couldn't wait and I know how agonizing it is to wait to see what happens next in a TV or book series, but I have been sick the last few weeks. Honestly, I'm not sure if I'm even over it now, but since I do have chapters written I figured I should at least post those this week. I have six chapters, and I'm going to aim to post two a night/morning... However, there is some bad news too. Due to a frustrating conversation I had with someone, I hit the wall— again— and injured my hand— again— so even though it's not too serious, I'm not sure how fast I'm going to be able to write and post the chapters after these. Now, onto the response section. **(1)** There was a guest saying that they get it; they get that Draco is just such a poor, little rich boy and that I didn't need to continue pointing it out, but that's really not what's going on here. Medical issues (whether physical or psychological) and concepts of hate and jealousy can happen to anyone (regardless of social class, race, gender, sex or sexual orientation), and somehow I doubt I'd be getting the same response if I'd given Harry these issues. So, what? Just because Draco is rich that means his problems don't mean anything? I don't think so, and look I get it. In the United States we have this whole issue of trickle-down economics, which causes even the hardest working lower and middle class people not to earn a living wage (as the minimum wage isn't even considered a living wage). Me myself, I've had the hardest time even getting a dentist appointment because my insurance is just that bad, where I've been put on a five-month waiting list for every dentist who would actually take my insurance (because some didn't). So, in that regard it's easier for rich people to get help for their medical issues, but that doesn't necessarily mean they have the support they would need and it definitely doesn't mean that they're immune to or won't continue having these problems. If you don't like seeing rich people having problems then get out of here, because in this fanfiction everyone is equal and everyone (regardless of social class/economic status or race) will have their own problems, because they are all human... well, you know what I mean. **(2)** A guest who happens to be a teacher was saying that Harry was being too open about his abuse. The idea was that he just got so frustrated with his situation that he had to get it out somehow, and when those direct questions were being asked to him he didn't care enough to lie. It's not like it would have been in the market, where the Dursleys would be there turning his confession into some kind of joke and then punishing him later for it. However, I do believe that there would be a line Harry wouldn't pass, like maybe he'd be okay telling his friends or answering direct questions from a stranger but never tell a teacher or an adult who would have contact with his family and therefore could give his family a reason to punish him (that reason being that he told and caused the family trouble). So, thank you for your comment. It may have been criticism, but since it gave me an idea for a future chapter I'm not that affected by it. Also, it looked like you may have been the one also commenting about how open Draco was about Snape having been a Death Eater. So, the funny thing about this is that Draco is just a preteen. Children aren't very trustworthy in keeping their mouth shut, as they may not have learned how to keep a secret yet, so right now Draco actually isn't very aware that some members of the pureblood community still worship the Dark Lord. Due to some discrimination his family may have faced, he may have been told that they used to serve him, and he obviously knows about his parents ideologies, but he doesn't know that they still serve/worship Voldemort (if they indeed still do). It would have been semi-common knowledge about Snape's involvement with the Death Eaters, so Draco saying it isn't a huge deal; although, even though it's common knowledge his family once served You-Know-Who, he definitely wouldn't be giving that information out to just anyone. Looking back in the first chapter, though, I saw Draco uses Voldemort's name in addressing him, which would mean him and his family would have been unafraid of him. This simply wouldn't be true; Voldemort was worshiped because he was feared so much, so at some point I'm probably going to have to go back and change how Draco addresses Voldemort. **(3)** Now. **Pearsforgrandma** , it's time to cover a few different responses you've left that I neglected to answer until now. First up is about Goyle's dyslexia. From my understanding, this isn't really a problem directly related to the eyes, so it wouldn't be as easy as Harry fixing his sight with the eye potion/solution. The documentary I watched and the studies it included was saying that in most cases dyslexics just use more of their brain while they read, which would explain the tiredness they experience from this activity. Looking into it more, I found articles and cites that claimed to "cure" it, but I doubt it's as effective as they claim. There was this one place that had a program that would train the eyes to move differently, but that costed a lot of money and I doubt it's as simple as making sure you're reading the right line when dyslexia can include the interjection or transposition of words or letters. There is a pair of expensive, tinted glasses that claims to help, but even if it does it's unlikely to remove the condition completely. So, all in all, dyslexia seems to be a "problem" more with the brain than it is with the eyes, therefore making the condition hard to treat, if you really think high spatial reasoning (thinking in 3D space and being able to move 3D objects within that space) and narrative reasoning (in the article explaining this to be memorizing facts as experiences and examples as stories) is really a problem. (When I say you, I tend to mean a general you, as in just someone and not necessarily you specifically. Also, if anyone gets confused by my long sentences, just take the words between brackets or commas out and it should be understandable then.) The other comment you made was about your surprise that Draco didn't invite Harry over to his manor for the holidays. There are a few reasons why he may not have done this: 1) They do have the whole ritual and winter gala to attend and Harry would have been left alone during those events, not to mention it was the Malfoy's turn to host the gala this year. 2) His home life may have reveled too much that he or his parents wouldn't want to be reveled, such as his eating/health issues and the borderline abuse that does sometimes occur. 3) He doesn't like to look weak. He has to be perfect and he has to assure everyone he's okay, so having Harry near him at a place and time that he may have been more vulnerable may not be what he'd most like to do. Really, I didn't think too much as to why Draco didn't invite Harry. I just didn't think it would happen, but if you need more of a reason than just that then I just listed three good ones for you. Assuming I get to the second book, Draco may invite Harry for the holidays that winter, but as far as this fanfiction goes Harry isn't going to see the manor. Sorry. I know that could have been interesting... and actually I do have a scene or two kind of planned for a fanfiction or two after this (corresponding with the 2nd and 3rd books) but even those depend on where the characters end up. I'm not going to force them to do anything they probably wouldn't do. **Author Help:** I need to know if when you say someone or their family owns something if there's an apostrophe used at all. For example, would it be the Malfoy's house or the Malfoys house, and does that change if you're only mentioning that one person of that family owns it? I tried looking this up, but I couldn't find it. If anyone knows the grammar rule, then please let me know. I've been feeling a little stupid during the last chapter or two that I wrote, during which I kept going back-and-forth. Anyway, if you don't that's fine. You're free to read. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"Are you sure?" asks Harry. "I mean, he seems to be a bit—" Draco watches as he purses his lips and finally decides on, "Mean."

"I'll be fine. Trust me," Draco replies with an even expression, as they walk toward the entrance hall.

"Okay, but if anything happens—"

"Nothing will happen," Draco tries to reassure him.

Harry reaches for Draco's shoulder, "I'm just saying, owl me if there's a problem." and soon after he sees his friend's sad eyes.

"Harry. There's nothing you could do." Draco gulps and forces a smile, although his eyes are still wide, "I'll be fine. I promise."

Harry looks at him for a moment before responding, "Okay. I believe you." even though he really doesn't. With that Draco nods and walks over to one of the few fireplaces that open up during the holidays, as Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore supervise the travel.

"Hey, Harry."

He turns to see a smiling Hermione, "Oh. Hey."

She gives an inquisitive look, "Something wrong?"

"Oh. No," Harry shakes his head, before Hermione smirks her disbelief. "No. I was just—" He cuts himself off in remembrance, taking a chocolate frog card from his pocket, "I need to tell you, I found this today. It mentions Nicolas Flamel. Something about a philosopher's stone or something."

"Thee philosopher's stone," Hermione takes the card from him. "I thought that was just a myth." She hugs him, "Oh. Thank you." before letting go, and suddenly her expression changes to more of hesitation. "Wait. How long have you known about this?"

Harry shrugs, "I don't know. Last night. This morning."

"And you've only told me about it now?" her mouth opens in shocked disbelief, but Harry doesn't respond. "You know this is important. What were you doing that could have made you forget about this?" Harry's mouth starts to open, but no words come out as he finds Draco at the front of the fireplace line. "Ah," says Hermione in a voice that shows she was asking herself why it even surprised her. "I get it."

At this realization, Harry looks back at her with wide eyes, "No. You don't understand."

"I think I do," she says as she plops down her suitcase and crosses her arms. Harry finds himself holding his breath as her look intensifies. "He's your friend. You're worried about him." She smiles, "That's so nice of you, Harry. You're so caring."

"Oh. Okay. Good," says Harry, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Why? What did you think I was going to say?"

Harry shakes his head, "Nothing. Just something stupid." She gives him a look, and then his eyes widen, "I mean, definitely not stupid. You would never say anything stupid."

Hermione smiles, "Better." before she laughs.

"What?" asks Harry, just a bit confused.

She grins, "Count your graces that you're so young. If you were looking for a girlfriend, I doubt you'd find one." At the sight of his scar she falters, "Well, maybe not with your fame, actually. You might just make it."

He gives a questioning look, "Is that supposed to make me feel any better?"

She smiles sweetly, "Never mind that now. I'm going to research Flamel and the philosopher's stone over break. I would ask for you and Ron to help, but knowing you two and seeing the help you've just been, I'm not expecting much."

Harry wets his lips, "I can't speak for Ron, but I promise I'll pick up a book over break."

She smiles, "Thank you." before picking up her luggage and giving a nod, before she walks away and into line with the countless other students.

* * *

"Draco. You're here."

Draco nods to his father, but then he notices the family healer standing from a chair. "When you said a checkup would be waiting for me at home, I didn't think you meant this soon."

"Why wait when we can address the problem now?" his father comments.

"That's a good point," Draco irritably mumbles.

"Annunciate your words, Son. I don't believe I heard you."

Draco smiles with glowering eyes, "I was just saying how nice it will be to get this out of the way."

His father smirks, "Yes, yes. I thought that's what you said." before he points his snake walking stick to Draco's shoes. "Make sure to dust yourself off on your way in. We don't need soot tracked into the house."

Draco does as he's told, before he walks out of the fireplace and into the dining room. He nods to the healer, and then the man speaks. "Are you ready for your examination, Draco?"

"As ready as I can be, I suppose."

The black haired healer nods, "Then you won't mind removing your clothes."

Draco looks around the room, "Can't this happen someplace more private?"

"Don't stall, Draco," his father responds. "There's no one here."

He nods to where he had just come out, "There's a fireplace in here. What if someone comes through?"

His father stays calm, "You know very well that we keep the chimney locked, unless we are to be expecting guests. Now. Stop stalling, and do as the good healer says."

With a long breath Draco shakes his head in careless defeat, "Yeah. Alright. Fine." He begins to remove his clothes, until he's only left in his underwear. He glances at his father, whom seems grossly appalled by his appearance. Draco looks down at his level stomach, and then sees his now slightly more muscular arms. _It can't be that bad, can it?_

The healer gives a somber expression, as he walks up to Draco and begins the examination spell. After only a few moments the parchment appears in ink, and the healer immediately hands it to Lucius. Draco gets dressed as his father thoroughly inspects the paper. Looking at him, he seems a bit disappointed, "You've gained three pounds."

"That's good. Isn't it?" Draco almost smiles, but his father's disappointment turns his expression back to an impassive, contemplative state.

"Somehow, I just expected more from you." He looks back down at the parchment, "You're low on iron, vitamin A, and potassium."

Draco opens his mouth, "But I can't be low on iron. I eat that beef jerky you send me nearly every day."

His father gives him an unhappy expression, "Nearly every day does not equate to every day. Do you eat any other meat at all, or maybe dark green vegetables?"

Draco shakes his head, fighting the urge to wet or bite his lips, "Not really."

When Lucius hands the parchment back to the healer, the brown eyed man looks it over quick before addressing Draco, "Would you like to take a seat?" Knowing he doesn't actually have a choice in the matter, Draco sits and prepares to listen to the healer once again. "Your father told me you did really well in your primary school health classes, and that's why he's been surprised at your seeming inability to take care of yourself."

Draco hums, not really caring. _It's not like those good grades ever impressed him before._

The healer continues, "I know a smart lad like yourself must have done your own research on these things, but it's my job to make sure you understand what you're doing to yourself." He doesn't respond. "You see, Draco, these nutrients you lack can cause serious damages if not replenished regularly. Your father tells me you lacked potassium at your last checkup as well, and I must say this is really dangerous." He slides to the edge of his seat, "You see, potassium is an electrolyte; this nutrient is required for proper cell function, and when someone is deficient in it for too long it may be fatal. Things like fatigue, muscle weakness, bloating or abdominal pain, and even dizziness or fainting may occur." Draco seems unfazed by this. "Do you know what heart palpitations are?"

"Yeah," Draco answers, his boredom turning into more of a sad fear as he relives the memories. "They're when your heart skips a beat, or when it feels too rapid or strong. It's when the beat is irregular."

Lucius finds himself sitting at the table, as if a large weight had pulled him down, "Draco. How do you know this?"

Draco looks at his father, but his eyes don't meet, "Like he said, I must have done my research." He finds himself gulping and turns away, as another memory hits him and once again he's overcome by the wish not to return to that place.

The healer comments, "It is my job to assess your wellbeing, so I must ask." Draco watches as he's looked over for a moment. "Have you experienced any of these symptoms?"

"Probably," Draco looks up to the ceiling.

He nods in understanding, "Could you specify to me which ones?"

Draco takes a deep breath before mumbling, "Probably all of them, at some point or another."

"What did I just tell you about mumbling?" Lucius fearfully complains, before he grits his teeth. "Say it again. Tell me, and be clear."

"I said," Draco turns around and shouts, "That they've all happened to me at one point or another."

Lucius lets out a breath, before he places a hand to his forehead, "Oh. Draco." His long hair covers any features that could explain the reason behind his reaction. Right now, it would be hard for Draco to tell whether he's sad, disappointed, or just angry.

 _I'm betting disappointed_. He wets his lips, forgetting the improper etiquette, "It's not that bad. The heart palpitations were just from last year. I don't even really get them anymore."

His father's hand moves from his forehead to his eyes, "Oh, Draco. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you?"

Draco's quiet as he tries to navigate his father's unusual behavior, but after a moment he simply responds, "You wouldn't want to hear it. I had to be perfect. I couldn't be weak." He looks away from his father and down towards the table, "If you had known, I would have been even more of a disappointment and you'd be even less proud of me than you already were."

After a minute of silence the healer continues, "Draco. You must know this behavior of yours, it isn't good. Why do you continue doing it?"

He shrugs, "I'm not sure. Sometimes it just happens." He looks away. "Other times I just don't care enough to stop it." He shakes his head, "Not that it really matters. It's not like I'm in control of this thing anyway. If I try to break free, it only clings to me harder. If I give in, it only wants more."

The healer gives a cautious but curious look, "Could you explain?"

"It's a monster. It controls me. It makes me do things."

"Draco," his father grumbles. "Aren't you a bit old to blame your decisions on some nonexistent creature?"

"No. Wait, Lucius. It's possible this monster is a symbol of his own thoughts."

"Feels more like possession sometimes," Draco hears himself say, but no one seems to have noticed he's said it.

The healer continues to speak with his father. "Having him describe the monster could help. Tell me, have you ever thought of bringing him to an analyst?"

"No. Never," his father answers. "And it's never going to happen. You know, my wife went to see an analyst once. She said it was the most embarrassing, the most undermining experience she's ever had, and I will not subject Draco to that same scrutiny."

The healer nods, seeming to take this in, "Well, I'm afraid all I can do then is finish by telling your son that those heart palpitations he once had can be very serious if experienced regularly." He looks through his bag, "For some people it's a minor occurrence that can be lived with, but in more serious cases it can turn into something called ventricular tachycardia." He takes out a thermos and looks at Draco, "This condition can cause significant palpitations, sever lightheadedness, a loss of consciousness, and even cardiac arrest— more commonly known as a heart attack."

Of course, Draco had already known this. In the book about muggle psychological disorders in the wizard world that he'd been secretly reading in the library it had mentioned how anorexics often die from cardiac arrest. It also mentioned how many of them would be low in potassium, but as Draco looks at his father it's clear that his father hadn't known this. Draco stares for a moment before looking away, wondering why his father was acting so dramatic and odd at the news of this information. _Or maybe it's me who's acting odd. Perhaps I'm not being dramatic enough._

The healer comments, "You don't seem surprised by this."

Draco shrugs, "Well, I'm not. I already knew." and with this Draco's father gives him the look which tells him that he should have been told.

"Did you know that it's for the most part untreatable? There's a potion that can be taken to subside the symptoms, but there's no real cure. It can be fatal to those who experience it."

Draco's mouth opens a bit, "That I didn't know."

The healer nods before handing Draco the thermos, "I took the liberty of making you a health shake. There's potassium and iron, as I suspected you'd be low in those, but I wasn't able to anticipate the vitamin A. You'll have to get that another way."

Draco nods and sees his father watch him intently as he takes a sip, but after forcing himself to swallow the concoction he feels the need to gag, "Ugh. This is horrible."

"Ah. Yes," says the healer. "I imagine it would be something a vampire would find quite delectable, as I've raised the mineral counts. They may be a little higher than what you're used to. Unfortunately, you just don't have the right palate."

"Does that mean I don't have to drink it?" Draco asks hopefully.

"Oh, Merlin no. You have to drink it. In fact, I'm not leaving until you do."

Draco looks at his father, begging with his eyes not to have to do this. Instead, his father nods his head down, "Do as the good healer says, Draco." With that Draco hasn't a choice, and he's watched as he forces himself to drink. He's surprised to have actually finished it, as his body seemed to want nothing more than to retch it to the floor, but it didn't and he succeeded.


	58. The Information Bank

Harry looks down his house's long dining table, the green cloth topped by countless foods and deserts for the dinner. There's no one else there. He looks back down at his empty plate. It had taken him a mere ten or fifteen minutes to finish eating, and now that he's done he looks around the room, unsure of what to do. Ron was talking to his brothers, the teachers are discussing matters at their own table, and Harry himself just sits alone. _This is getting really stupid._ He stands from his table, and as the sound penetrates the quiet Hall everyone looks at him. Harry gives everyone a second glance, before he turns his head away and exits the Hall.

He should know how to keep himself occupied. It's not like he was very prone to having friends before attending Hogwarts, although being chased around by Dudley and his friends sure kept him busy enough. He shakes his head and enters the library. As one would expect during the holidays, it's nearly empty. Looking over the front tables, he can see a few Ravenclaws to which he acknowledges with a nod, but after they offer him a smile they instantly retreat back into their books. Harry wouldn't have expected any better, worse maybe but not better, so he walks by them without a word and wanders through the stacks.

Before Hogwarts, whenever he was bored or locked up he'd find something to read, so when he had promised Hermione to pick up a book over break he knew it wouldn't be hard. _The question is which book I should read._ He's more used to fiction, but he'd already been told that they don't carry fiction here. The closest he could ever get would be myth and legends, so he walks over to that section. It only takes a minute for him to realize that he shouldn't read these, however, as he doesn't know nearly enough about the wizarding world to separate fantasy from reality. He stops his hand from grabbing the book he had been reaching for, drops it to his side, and walks to the end of the isle. He peeks out from behind the shelf and sees the three girls reading. Just passing by earlier he hadn't made any distinctions, but looking at them now he sees the brown haired girl who had stood to his right during Herbology. Slowly, he walks up to her, afraid he will be intruding, but when she looks up from her book again and smiles with her blue eyes he finds himself clearing his throat to speak, "I'm sorry for interrupting. I'm just having a really hard time finding a book to read, and I was just wondering if you could recommend me anything. I want something entertaining but factual."

Her straight, white teeth show through her smile, "You were raised in the muggle world, weren't you?"

"Ah. Yeah, I was."

During the next moment she just looks him over, as if she's trying to read him or memorize his appearance. When she does speak her voice remains as soft and sweet as it had before, "You should check out the science section. They have books on so-called 'mythical creatures'. None of it is false by any means, but coming from the muggle world I myself found them rather interesting."

Harry nods, "Thank you." but when he turns away she speaks to him again.

"How's Malfoy?" Harry turns around. "Do you know?"

"What," Harry begins, before he shakes his head. "I don't understand what you mean."

He watches her with squinted eyes, as her and her two friend huddle together for a second. After they break free she comments, "The book that bruised him, is he better?"

It takes a second for Harry to remember the excuse Draco had made, "I don't know. I haven't really been bothering him about it." She hums in what Harry can only guess to be disapproval or some kind of speculation. "Why do you ask?"

She looks at the center of her table, "No reason. I was just curious." but then she looks back up at him. "Do you know how often he gets these book bruises?"

Harry finds himself shaking his head, becoming a bit irritated. "Book bruises or just bruises in general?" he asks.

She raises her arm from the table and places the index finger beneath her chin, "Either one works." Harry doesn't respond. "So, how often?"

"Why do you care?" he inquires through furrowed eyebrows.

She gives an even look, "I'm curious. I like to be informed. Is that a crime now?"

"Invasion of privacy," he nearly shouts. "Yes, that's a crime."

"What's so private about a bruise?" she counters. "What's so private about something that anyone could see?"

Harry places a hand to his forehead, "Look. I don't know what you want from me, or why you're so concerned or curious or whatever about Draco for, but I'm telling you now that I know nothing. I literally know nothing, so back off."

She smiles, "That's fine. I think we got all we need." and then she turns toward her black haired friend. "Don't you think so, Izzy?"

The Izzy girl smiles back, "Yes. I think we do."

"Sorry," Harry interrupts, "but what have you got?"

The black haired girl looks at him like he's dumb, "Come off it, now. You're not going to tell us that we don't know what a book injury looks like when we see one." Harry gives a blank stare, which results in her letting out an irritated breath before raising her arms in the air. "Look. We're not going to say anything. Okay? Like Rachel said, we just like to be informed. So, you don't have to worry about him worrying about his family's reputation or anything. It's fine."

Harry cocks his head to the other side in confusion, "Why would he be worried about his family's reputation?"

Izzy laughs, "Well, he didn't exactly get that bruise from a book now, did he?" Suddenly Harry's expression softens, as he realizes what she had implied. "Oh my gods," she places a hand of dark blue nail polished fingers to her mouth. "I thought you were just covering for him, but you really didn't know, did you?"

Harry frowns, "I just thought his father was mean, that he liked to give punishments." He remembers how Draco had been dragged out of the Gargoyle Corridor by his ear, "I knew he was a little rough with him, but I never thought—" He shakes his head, "No. It has to be something else. He would have told me."

"Would he?" Izzy questions, her sparkling light blue eyes seeming to sympathize with him.

When Harry doesn't answer Rachel tells him with reassurance, "Name anything that can partially wrap around an arm hard enough to bruise, and then we will drop this theory entirely."

Harry licks his lips, "Well, I can't exactly think of anything at the moment." He sees the three girls give one another a look. "But I'm sure it's not that," Harry comments intensely.

Rachel offers a solemn smile, "Like we said, we won't say anything."

The third friend comments, "Just think of us as a bank for information. We don't let anything out until it's asked to be, and until then we use what we've gathered to help the people we've collected the information from."

Harry finds himself unable to think of anything, "Okay."

The third girl of strawberry blond hair continues, "Like your friend said the other day, it's hard to gather information when people know you're looking for it. So, we would appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone."

Harry just stands in shock, remembering how there was a black-haired girl looking at them in odd curiosity as they were discussing Flamel. "Okay," he says hesitantly.

Rachel suggests, "You might want to ask Malfoy about his book bruises. It's always good to have someone to talk to." before the librarian is seen coming into the area. The girl continues with a sweet smile, "I absolutely loved the book on faeries. It's in the science section if you'd like something entertaining to read."

Harry glances at the librarian before nodding in understanding, "Thank you for your recommendation. I'll leave you all to your books."

After a few minutes in the science section Harry thinks he's finally found it. He pulls out a large, green book and holds it in his hands. _Veela, Merfolk, and Leprechauns: Everything You Need to Know about Fae in a 1,000 Pages or Less._ Harry lifts the heavy book up to his chest, as he's seen Hermione do countless times, before he walks up to the front desk to check it out. _If nothing else, it's at least something to read and keep myself busy._ He feels himself frown at the thought of Draco, the thought of him being alone with his father. _But he promised he'd be okay._ He remembers his sad, shiny grey eyes. _And he said there was nothing I could possibly do._

* * *

\- I don't know about you guys, but I love the idea of there being an information bank. I really hope I can implement this later, like if a character wants to learn something about someone or if they need to get information. I mean, even Hermione isn't going to be able to find every piece of knowledge in the library, and there has to be some other character just looking to find dirt on someone else. The great thing about this is that if someone was looking for a dirty secret of someone else, then they'd have to give one of their own to the bank in return. This has great potential, and I only hope that I can use it to the best of its ability. It would be sad if I created something this great only to find it hard to bring it up again. So, here's a question for everyone. How would you like to see the bank be used in the future? I can't guarantee I will use your ideas, but it should at least give me something to work with. I hope you enjoyed. See you tonight/tomorrow.


	59. Behind the Scenes

\- Hey. Sorry it took a few nights for me to post. I had a hard time getting myself to reread this chapter to look for mistakes (not that there may not be any still, but I hope there aren't.) **Trigger Warning** for anorexia for second part of chapter, as always separated by a line break. I hate it when people waste food, so I'm kind of disappointed in Draco's behavior in this chapter, but I don't really blame him. This may not be the most interesting chapter, but it does cover a little information. If you can't make it through, then at least read the first part (up until the break). It shouldn't take long. I hope you enjoy. Although the next chapter is more political than anything, it will be more interesting than this. I promise. Have a good read!

* * *

"Draco, dear. How are you?"

Draco watches his mother walk over to him, placing a kiss at the top of his forehead. Normally he would wipe it away, but he has missed her. "I'm fine." It's then he realizes, however, that he's not even smiling.

She looks at him for a moment, seeming to judge his wellbeing for herself, "Your father told me about your checkup earlier." She sadly smiles, "Darling, you should have told us."

"Yes, Mother. Sorry, Mother," Draco looks down before eyeing the tall bookcases he's been searching. "Do you know if we have Shakespeare here?"

"Shakespeare, as in William Shakespeare?" she asks with shock, and he nods. "Aren't you a little young for that kind of thing?"

He shrugs, "I'm old enough to have heard about it from a friend."

She nods, "Yes. Well, he was a playwright, not a novelist. His work will be with the other scripts over there." She points to a bookcase at the other corner of the room, which is next to a plastic plant by the roasting fireplace. Draco walks over there, his mother's graceful steps right behind him. "Did you have anything specific in mind? Maybe _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ or _Much Ado about Nothing_?"

"Actually," Draco examines the shelves carefully with his pointer finger. "I'm looking for _Romeo and Juliet_."

"No," his mother says, before he finds the book and turns around in confusion. "I don't want you reading that."

"Why ever not?" Draco complains, the small book held in his outstretched hand.

"Because it's a tragedy. You don't need to be reading that."

Draco's eyebrows rise as his eyes widen, and he slowly responds, "I like tragedy."

Narcissa shakes her head, "Oh, Draco. Don't you think you have enough tragedy in your life? Why'd you want to go off and read about it too?"

"Maybe that's why I like it," he contemplates. "Because I'm used to it."

His mother takes a solemn breath, taking out her small, silver pocket watch as she does so. "Go ahead, then. I've got to be at the theater in nearly an hour."

"You're working tonight?" Draco protests. "But I'm here. Shouldn't you be spending the time with me, and if you weren't working earlier then where were you?"

"I was out with a friend," she calmly explains herself. "I didn't think you'd be home so soon. You only just had class this morning."

Draco stares blankly, "I was told to come home this afternoon. Father had the healer waiting and everything. Didn't he tell you?"

"It must have slipped his mind," she offers before checking her watch again. She softly smiles, "I'm sorry Draco, but I must get ready."

"You play the piano," Draco shouts as he feels tears stinging his eyes. "You look fine the way you are. Just stay, please, and talk with me."

She softly smiles, "You know very well it's a black-tie theater. I can't just show up in my everyday wear. I must look presentable."

"But you just got here," Draco finds himself whispering as he feels a few tears slip from his eyes.

Narcissa's smile turns grim, as she takes a few steps, kneels in front of him, and wipes the tears away. "I know this must be hard for you, but I won't be gone long."

 _Yeah right_. Draco looks away from her. _She won't be back until after midnight. I know she won't_.

She lifts his chin so that his eyes meet hers again, "I've got a present for you too, if I hear you've finished dinner without complaint."

"What is it?" Draco murmurs.

His mother smiles, her bright teeth reflecting the evening light coming in through the windows, "Just know that you will love it." With another look at her pocket watch her smile collapses, however, and she begins to stand. "I'm sorry, darling, but I must get going."

Draco can only stare, as his mother strides off and exits from view. He stands still in his place, continuing to stare at the doorway, before he whispers, "I love you too."

* * *

Draco lies on the soft, golden couch in front of the warm fire, as he's just about to end the first act of _Romeo and Juliet_. However, while starting to read the last page of that first act, he hears his father in the doorway. "Dinner's at the table. Come and eat."

"Yeah," Draco responds distractedly. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Now," his father says firmly, but Draco doesn't answer. He stomps into the room and clutches the book from his son.

"Hey. I was reading that," Draco complains as he sits up to take the book back, but his father keeps it away from him.

"When I say come to dinner I expect you to come."

"And I said I'd get up in a minute," he defends.

"You mean like you did all those other times," Lucius offers, the tips of his thumb and forefinger touching.

"Yes. Exactly," Draco starts, but then his eyes look away in thought as he falters. "Wait. What other times?"

His father smirks, "Exactly." before pulling Draco up from the couch. "Once a book enters your hands, you never put it down for anything." He begins to walk off, holding the blue book up in the air, "You will get this back after you eat." Lucius exits the doorframe, but when he looks back he finds his son isn't moving. He's just looking at the wall high shelves of the library, as if in search for another book. Lucius shouts, "Come. Now." and Draco is startled from his thoughts.

"What?" he asks.

Lucius grits his teeth, "You heard me." but when Draco gives a blank stare he raises his voice and points to the floor. "I said come here."

Draco walks up to his father a little hesitantly, but when he gets there his father takes a deep breath and continues pleasantly. "Now. Follow me." Draco does as he's asked, but he trudges along as they make their way to the dining room. "I've told the elf to make things high in vitamin A and potassium, and since your mother and I are fasting for the solstice you get to have it all to yourself."

Draco's mouth drops as he looks over the large bowls of banana pudding, sweet potatoes, and dark salad, but he becomes even more shocked as he sees the large salmon fillets. "There's no way I could possibly eat all of this," he nearly yells, but with a displeased noise escaping his father he grins. "But I will most certainly try."

"Yes. You will," his father comments in a low tone, before he checks his golden pocket watch. "I have to meet with the board tonight. They seem to have some concern about how the new two-day test policy could have impacted last semester's exams." He begins to walk off, but then he points his finger into the air, "I should be back within three hours. You have until then to finish, and if I see you haven't I'll make sure you do myself."

"Yes, Father," Draco says, before his father apparates from the house.

After his father leaves Draco treads to the dining table and sits, before he contemplates what to put on his plate. Soon he shakes his head, however, realizing this isn't Hogwarts and that he can't just place something at each corner of his plate. _No. I have to eat it all._ Draco bites his lips and takes a deep breath, as he begins to fill his plate with the fish and potatoes. He picks up his fork and brings it to the potatoes, but he finds his hand shaking as he does so. It actually gets to the point where he throws the fork back to the plate, before he runs his hands over his head. With one more glance at the potatoes he looks away. _I'd never eat this. No potatoes, no bread, no pasta or rice. Just nothing._ He forces himself to look back at his plate, but the longer he looks the more of an impulse he has to swipe it clean into the trash.

Before he knows it, Draco's done exactly that. He'd used the fork to wipe everything off of the plate and into the trash, and after doing so he takes a breath of relief. _I feel a lot better now._ He looks back at the table and sees the rest of the meal, his triumphant smile suddenly turning into a frown. _I have to do something about this… but I've got to do it in a way that makes it look like I ate._ A smirk crawls up his face, before he empties the rest of the bowls into the bin as well; however, before he does he takes bits and pieces to place on his plate. He takes his time to make sure the plate looks like someone ate off of it, someone who was feeling sick and really didn't want to finish; he made sure it looked like one of his plates at that restaurant during one of his punishments. Organizing the bowls so that they were within reach of his seat, he stands back and is very proud of how good the scene looks. _I'm a real artist, I am._

The picture is ruined, though, when he sees the large pitcher of milk, but luckily he knows what to do with that as well. He actually is thirsty, so he does drink part of a glass, but he makes sure to leave some milk at the bottom before going off into the bathroom with the rest of the pitcher. He lifts up the lid of the toilet, before he dumps a large amount of it into the bowl, making sure to leave a few inches at the bottom of the pitcher. He flushes the toilet and washes his hands to rid himself of the germs, before he walks back into the dining room and places the container near to his seat at the table. He takes the gold bell from the center of the table to ring it, and after a few moments the house elf appears. Draco points to the dustbin, "Get rid of that."

The three-foot elf snaps his fingers, taking care of the garbage, before he smiles up at him, "Is there anything else I may do for Master Draco. Take care of the dishes, maybe?"

"No," Draco says loudly, before looking over to see if his masterpiece is okay. He smiles down at the elf, "That will do for now. If my father asks you if you've taken the rubbish out, you will say you haven't yet. If he asks why you haven't cleaned the dishes, you will tell him you weren't informed that I had finished." He stresses this last part, "If he asks you if you're lying or if he tells you to tell the truth, you will tell him that you aren't or that you already have, depending on which he asks."

The elf nervously moves his fingers together, "But won't Master Draco get in trouble if Dobby says he did not inform him about having finished dinner?"

Draco shakes his head, "Not at all. I will tell him that I was simply feeling so unwell that I went straight to bed and that I had completely forgotten about you."

The elf hesitantly questions with his troubled green eyes, "So, Master Draco won't get in trouble if Dobby does this, then?"

Draco shakes his head, "No. I won't." to which the elf smiles. "Now," Draco lifts his hands in unsureness. "Go back to whatever it is you were doing before."

After the elf leaves Draco uses the bathroom before heading to his room, and then he takes a vial of sleeping potion from his luggage. He sits on his bed as he uncorks it. _I need to be asleep when father returns. If I really did feel so unwell, I'd go straight to sleep. No sounds or anything would intrigue me enough to get up. I'd just continue to sleep, even if I were getting yelled at. I would just sleep._ He looks at the purple substance. _I know Snape said only to use half of it, but I need to be asleep longer than three hours. I need to be asleep for at least six._ Draco looks at the snake poster on his wall, which depicts the Slytherin crest, before he lifts his hand up to it. "Cheers." He drinks the whole vial, and almost instantly he feels the grogginess set in. He lies down on his bed, only managing to cover up half way before falling to sleep.


	60. Wizard Wireless Network

When Draco opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the dark wood of his bedroom. He groans, as he finds his system still overcome by grogginess. He stares at the floor for a minute, before he looks up at the black wallpaper, the encrusted silver of which places countless flowers upon it. _Or at least I think they're flowers. They could be anything really._ He take a deep yawn before forcing himself up from the bed, but he still finds himself unwilling to stand. _Maybe I should have listened to Snape after all._ He looks at his desk and with a shock he immediately stands, walking over to the small, wooden clock to make sure his eyes haven't deceived him. He picks it up and stares at it in his hands. _It's nearly three in the afternoon!_ He puts it back down without looking, and immediately puts on the first clean outfit he can find. He walks through the hall, down the stairs, and enters the main floor. Looking through the arch on his left, he sees his parents in the dining room. His father is reading the Daily Prophet, as his mother leans close to him and whispers inaudible devices. Draco sees his father's smile widen, but when his father sees him he lays the newspaper down onto the green cloth of the oak dining table.

"Draco. It's nice to see you awake. How did you sleep?"

He shakes his head, "I don't remember anything really. I just felt so unwell."

"You're feeling better now, I trust," his father says as he lifts the paper back up, a crinkling sound filling the room as he crumples it with his hands.

Draco stands still for a moment. _He can't be mad at me, can he?_ "A little better, I suppose," he says, shifting in his stance.

"Then you won't mind eating something." He sees Draco about to speak, "Your fast begins in five hours. You need something before it starts."

Draco finds his mouth open a second longer than it should have been, "I'm still full from last night. Can I just have some fried pickles and ranch or something?"

His father grumbles, but then his mother places a hand on her husband's arm, "Lucius, let him have it. You did say he ate everything last night, and there is that feast at the gala in only a few short nights."

Lucius hums, as if trying to say no, but then he lets out a long, "Fine." He picks up the bell and soon Dobby arrives. "There you are. Get Draco some— what was it?"

Draco answers, "Fried pickles with ranch."

The elf turns to him, "And would Master Draco prefer it the usual way?"

"Yes," Draco answers more forcefully than needed. He looks at his parents, but apparently they haven't found anything odd by the elf's question of whether he'd like it the 'usual way'. He takes a relaxing breath, dismisses the elf, and walks over to the black radio. "Do you mind?"

His mother shakes her head, as his father responds, "No, not at all. Let's see what they think about all this rubbish on the front page."

Draco nods before turning on the Wizard Wireless Network, and then he takes a seat back at the table. A man's voice is heard, "This really is a hot topic. It seems like more and more people are tuning in as the day progresses."

"Wait," Draco remembers, before he looks at his father. "Shouldn't you be at the apothecary working?"

Lucius takes a sip of his warm tea, "Well, I thought it best to stay home today, seeing as you are here and as it seems you need extra care right now."

Draco looks away and distracts himself by listening to the station. "I've got two wizards here with me today, both of which do work at the Ministry which claims to be well on their way to enacting this new policy. Mr. Nott, who's part of the Invisibility Task Force division, has offered to advocate for wizardkind and the so-called pureblood community, while Mr. Weasley, head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, would like to take the side of the muggleborn out there." Draco looks at the table as he notices his snack appear in front of him, along with the tall pitcher of ice water he had forgotten to order. He smiles, pouring himself a glass, before using two fingers to pick at the crisp-like-pickles. "So," the man of the network continues. "Mr. Nott. Let's start with you. I know you told me earlier that at least a thousand letters of disapproval have already been owled to the Ministry. What do you think about that?"

"I think it's rather expected," responds Mr. Nott. "The mere prospect of applying for a job without disclosing your blood status is unthinkable. It's been done this way for the longest time, and there haven't been any problems yet. I think the real question here isn't whether or not we should require magical peoples to disclose their blood status, but rather what are the people who don't want to disclose it trying to hide." The network's announcer hums in contemplation. "Just think about it for a moment. Here we have more and more muggleborn coming into the wizard world from their Christian families. These muggles are a threat to our society, and now we're just supposed to allow them into jobs without even getting the opportunity to know if they could have malicious intent? It's just so absurd."

"Let me stop you there." Draco takes a large sip of the ice water, and he feels himself shiver with the embracing cold as he lets out a long, warm breath. With curious, possibly suspicious looks from his parents, he puts the cold glass down again and continues picking at the pickles and ranch.

"May I just say," says Mr. Weasley, "that there have been problems with disclosing blood statuses. There are cases where people are denied a job just because the employer fears that a half-blood may contain the blood and characteristics of what are presumed to be a dangerous being or beast, when really most half-bloods are just very distantly related to these muggles your pureblood community seems to fear so much."

Draco hears his father scoff, "How would that blood-traitor know anything about how the pureblood community works. He's never even bothered to gather or speak to us, unless he suspects we're doing something criminal."

There's an overlap of incoherent voices, until the announcer asks Mr. Weasley to continue. "Yes. Thank you. Well, putting that aside, not all muggles follow the god that many of their religions seem to have in common. In fact, in some places, muggle affiliation with religion has indeed been in a decline. Those who still practice the Christian religions tend to do so in a way that takes the good and leaves the bad. Muggleborns don't have malicious intent, as Mr. Nott puts it, but rather that they just want the opportunity to get the jobs they are so often denied just because of their blood status."

"Mr. Nott, do you have anything to say?" asks the announcer.

"Yes. I do, in fact." He clears his throat, "I'm going to humor Mr. Arthur Weasley here for a moment, and let's just say muggleborns don't have malicious intent as I and many others believe they do."

"This ought to be good," Lucius smirks, and Draco looks over to see that his mother has just smiled as well. Draco himself keeps himself preoccupied by dipping each pickle one by one into the ranch and then eating them. He's not sure what to exactly think. That Granger girl had seemed smart and nice enough, but muggles are indeed dangerous and he knows this.

Mr. Nott continues, "You see, this law the Ministry wants to enact to prevent the requirement to disclose blood statuses isn't just for things like retail or teaching. Within the next seven years, they also want the same policy to be enacted for government positions. So, these muggles— or muggleborn, I should say— who have very limited experience, may become eligible for Ministry positions."

"Could you explain further?" asks the man in thoughtfulness.

"Surely," answers Mr. Nott. "You see, muggles don't know about the wizard world." He laughs, "When their children see a monster in their wardrobe, they tell the children it was their imagination instead of the boggart it probably was. So, when muggle children get their letters to get an education in controlling their apparent magical ability, they have no knowledge of the world they're about to enter. They're at least a full eleven years behind in experience, and no amount of education is going to fix that. Imagine traveling to a new country. It takes a while, a long while, to get used to the customs, right? Now, do you want someone like that, someone without the proper experience, to get a position that needs so much experience?"

The announcer hums, "You've made a few good points. Mr. Weasley, would you like to counter his claims?"

"Yes. I would," Mr. Weasley says in what seems to either be mild irritation or pent-up anger. "Actually, I'll counter with a question." There's a long pause. "As you probably know, Harry Potter, a half-blood, was raised in the muggle world after his parents' death. Are you saying he's a threat to our society? Are you saying that he won't ever be able to amount to anything, since he has only just learned of our world?"

Draco looks towards his father, wondering what he thinks, and then he watches as his father's grin slowly falls into a stunned frown. A moment passes before Mr. Nott finds the words to reply, and he does so in a near laugh, clearly uncomfortable with the concept of Harry Potter's situation, "Why, that's different, though, isn't it? He was born in the wizard world. His subconscious will contain memories that would have allowed him to question whether what the muggles were saying was true, that magic didn't exist and that anything he did see would have merely been in his mind. Obviously, he has great potential and talent, defeating the Dark Lord when he was only a baby."

"If he has great potential," Mr. Weasley interrupts, "then what makes you so sure other witches and wizards who were raised in the muggle world won't? If Harry hadn't had an opportunity to defeat You-Know-Who, then would he still have the potential you see in him now? Or, since he wouldn't have had a chance to show that potential, does that mean he would have no longer had potential?"

Lucius groans as Mr. Nott pauses again. "He clearly hasn't prepared himself for this. What was he thinking, going against that Weasley and not being prepared to talk about Potter?"

"So, you know then?" asks Draco.

"That Potter's been speaking not only to that mudblood you mentioned but also to that blood-traitor's son?" he questions. "Yeah. Of course, I know." He looks at Draco carefully, "He hasn't been a bad influence on you, as he? You're not spending your time with the filth he does, do you?"

"No. Of course, not," he immediately answers. He huffs in what he hopes will be interpreted as insult or disbelief, "Me, a Malfoy, stoop that low? Never, and I mean never."

Lucius partly smiles, "Good. Now if only you could become a good influence on him."

Draco ignores this and neglects to tell his father how insistent Harry seems to be about having Granger as a friend, as Mr. Nott finally responds. "Anyone who has magical ability has potential to harness that ability, but a muggle is going to have a lot harder of a time harnessing that power than the child of a witch or wizard would."

"And when you say muggle, you do mean muggleborn," the announcer speculates.

"Yes. That's correct," says Mr. Nott. "Sorry, if I've been confusing anyone out in the audience. Let me explain, so there's no further confusion. Muggleborns come from muggle families; they have no wizard blood in their veins, only the potential to harness magical energy, which is why many purebloods just call the muggleborn muggles. They're not seen as true witches or wizards. They're merely seen as muggles with slight magical ability."

"So, you don't believe the muggleborn could harness magical energy as well as a real witch or wizard could?"

"No," answers Mr. Nott.

"Interesting," comments the announcer. "What about their education? If they learn enough, then would that have an impact on their ability to harness magic or do you think it would just stay the same as it's always been?"

"You know," he responds a bit hesitantly, perhaps a little flustered, "there have been cases where muggles try their best in school to prove they belong. Some of them actually do fairly well, but I imagine it would take them longer and that they'd have to work a lot harder to do what any other witch or wizard would just be able to do with little instruction."

"So, what do you think? Do these muggles— as you put it— deserve to obtain a job in the wizard world so long as they've worked so hard to get there, or do you believe it would still be better for them not to get high-ranking jobs due to a lack of experience even if they do have a good education?"

"Well, there really is a difference between intelligence and experience, and I cannot stress that enough, but that's not what worries me the most when it comes to the possibility of them obtaining these Ministry or government positions."

"What worries you the most?"

"Well," says Mr. Nott. "Personally, I think the only thing more dangerous than a muggle is a muggle who has been taught magic, and it is that education coupled with them getting these high-ranking jobs that really worries me."

The man hums, "Mr. Weasley, is there anything you'd like to say?"

It takes a moment for him to reply, "No, I think not. He's made it very clear that he's just coming from a place of fear, and I don't think anything I can say other than what I've already said could possibly change his mind on them needing to be feared."

"Alright," says the announcer. "I was unable to get Cornelius Fudge to speak to us today, as he and a few others have remained silent on this issue, but I do have Mr. Shacklebolt on the line. He is an Auror at the Ministry. Kingsley, I understand you had some important things to address on this matter."

"Yes," says the new voice. "I'm going to go ahead and say that I don't know exactly what the Minister himself is thinking on this matter, but rumor has it that they wanted to make this law so that more resources could be moved to more important departments and divisions. It's claimed that they were heard talking about just how hard and costly it is to confirm someone's blood status, as it really is a very ambiguous thing for most people in the first place. When someone's status is being confirmed, they have to go back a full seven, sometimes even ten generations, to make sure that someone really is what they say they are."

"Why do they have to confirm someone's blood status?" asks the announcer. "It is already displayed on wizard birth certificates."

"Well, you see," he answers, "the Blood Status Office held under the Being Division has the main task of confirming someone's blood status for a birth certificate. Unfortunately, however, some groups or businesses have become a bit paranoid with the uprising of counterfeit certification in which some people will have their blood status changed. So, in turn, some employers find it best to owl the Ministry to confirm the person is who they say they are and that their status is indeed correct."

"Wouldn't it just be easier to make hospitals confirm each person's status?"

"That would require each witch or wizard's medical file to become public knowledge, and I'm sure you know as I do, Mr. O'Reilly, that many people would prefer those things to stay quiet. No one wants a potential employer to know that he or she has sensitivity to vanishing sickness or that his or her family's history indicates a high probability of that person becoming insane as they grow older."

"Draco, dear," Narcissa comments suddenly, as if only just remembering him. "I think you can eat with more than just two fingers, don't you? The way you're eating now, you won't ever finish."

Draco looks away from his mother, stays quiet, and continues to listen to the network. Mr. Shacklebolt comments, "If the Ministry is doing this to transfer resources, then they will most likely just be doing away with rechecking someone's blood status. It would be a lot easier not to receive mail about confirming blood statuses if there was no need to confirm an employee's blood status in the first place."

"Draco," his mother starts.

"I'm fine," Draco comments, not looking up.

"But darling—"

"I said I'm fine," Draco looks up in a near shout, before he tries to take a relaxing breath and once again looks away. He had seen the expression on his parents' faces. They'd been shocked, his father a bit angered, his mother a little worried. "I'm sorry. It's just—" He shakes his head, which is placed in his hand. "It just has to be two fingers. If it isn't, then it's just a mess, and we don't need that."

"It doesn't have to be a mess," his mother calmly responds. "We do have napkins."

Draco blankly stares down at the table and his large snack for a moment, "Only using two fingers also makes it last longer. We don't get this at Hogwarts, and I don't want to eat for three minutes only to look down and find it's gone and to have to wonder where it's gone to." He looks back up, "Can't I just enjoy this while it lasts?"

It takes a moment for his mother to respond, "Sure. Of course." but the words seem to be unsure, as if she lacks understanding but wills herself to understand.

Draco picks at his snack again and drinks the slowly melting ice water, the water being sipped after every few bites and taking on the flavor of the ranch. He listens to Mr. Shacklebolt finish his statement, "I believe this will be good for everybody. As a pureblood myself, I know that it's not just other blood statuses who've received discrimination. A lot of people are still weary of purebloods, because You-Know-Who preferred having purebloods in his following. There are many pureblood families, however, who broke free from past ideologies but who still sometimes suffer from the stereotypes going against them. Do I think muggleborns should take on Ministry positions? That I'm not too sure of at this moment, but I do know that this new law will be a good thing for everyone regardless of their blood status."

"Draco." His father commands in fiery, "Turn that thing off. I've heard enough." Draco immediately gets up and does as he's told. "One day that Shacklebolt is going to have to pick a side, and when he does it better be ours."

Draco sits back down and silently nods, even though he has no opinion on the matter, not really anyway. _Yes, blood-traitors are bad, but it's not like he would be abandoning us in our time of need like so many other families have._ His father continues to vent in outrage, and Draco continues to nod in response. He makes himself act like he cares and act like he agrees, because he's expected to. If he didn't, then his father would give him a look and perhaps even try to teach him a lesson in some way or form. _Nope. There's no need for that. We're just going to nod, we're going to give acknowledging hums, and we're going to agree. There's no need to make anything harder than what it needs to be._

* * *

\- For those living in 2017 America, you may have noticed a correlation here between wizard politics and our current politics. I did this purposely, flipping it on its head for a different perspective. Just the idea of being discriminated because of an assumed religion, and being afraid of that person because of their religion, is really ridiculous. Just like Catholics or Lutherans, followers of Islam and Judaism may also "cherry pick" their beliefs (like how some Catholic and Lutheran churches accept gays now (and how A LOT of Christians eat shellfish even though that's mentioned WAY more often as a sin than being gay is). The sad thing is you don't even have to be that religion; if your religion has a similar head-wear or if you just happen to be wearing Arabian or Indian (as in India, not Native American) apparel, then people will think you are that religion and therefore fear and discriminate against you for it. The ignorance and hypocrisy of our country really is real, and what irritates me the most is the circle you (a person) can't escape. Like how Mr. Nott was in the fanfiction, there are people who say these immigrants don't have enough knowledge, but then when they come across someone with knowledge they just say that's even worse (for whatever reason). It's like being told you're no good because of this, but when you fix that you're told you're no good for either a related or unrelated reason. Honestly, I'm not religious at all; I think God (if he does exist) is a hypocritical, arrogant, megalomaniac just so desperate for affection, but I'm not here to judge. If you're taking the good out of your religion, and if you can actually follow those beliefs, then all the more power to you. I just hate all the bickering of people who think their religion is so much better (or in some cases, the one "true" religion) and just all of the discrimination that goes along with it. So, if you agree then you can enjoy this little segment, and if you disagree then you can just imagine that this is only an issue for the Harry Potter wizarding world. I really don't care which. I just thought this would be a good opportunity to display something relatable and possibly something impactful, while giving depth to the wizard world at the same time (after all, religion never was really mentioned in the books, and yet they celebrate Christmas even though their kind used to be burned at the stake, so I thought this would be a good subplot.) I hope I didn't offend anyone, and I'm sorry for ranting, but when I try venting about this to almost anyone, then suddenly they're just so offended. I guess that's why they say never to talk about politics or religion in America, because in our country the political parties are split down the middle and religion for some reason is so tied to it (even though there's supposed to be a separation between church and state.) Okay. I REALLY need to stop while I can. I hope you enjoyed this. Sorry for the rant, but like so many other things I've deleted from author notes before (either because it got too long, too personal, or offensive) I'm not deleting it this time. Sorry. I'll be back tomorrow night (hopefully) with another two chapters. The next chapter is dedicated to Hermione's home life. I hope you look forward to it.


	61. Being Practical

\- Let me just say that I'm loving the response section right now. You guys just make me feel a lot better about writing this, as from time to time I do get a little uneasy about using controversial topics/issues due to potential backlash. Depending on what I'm writing and which character I'm writing from, even in third person I try to embody that character's personality and view. This can lead to even the narration to be quite offensive, because of the way they view another character or the way they view a particular thing or topic. To someone who wouldn't know that I'm just trying to make the reading experience more ?insertive? Is that the right word? Probably not... The word I'm trying to remember is one used on DanAndPhilGames during a scary game (which may or may not have been for their Halloween week. But anyway, to someone who doesn't know I do that, they may just think those are the views I hold. Let me just say that even though writing is personal (and I have no idea how it could not be), that doesn't mean I believe what these characters believe. Also, for those who noticed that I said writing is personal, don't worry. When/If I give a character a similar issue to what I have, I normally make their experience at least twice (sometimes 5X or 10X) as bad just so that I can feel better about my situation... Although, that hasn't worked quite as well for this fic. It's kind of just been making me sad— but continuing on. I was really surprised when someone asked if I was going to include Hermione's younger sister in this chapter, as the Harry Potter Wiki doesn't say anything at all about this. It doesn't even say her parents' names, so if they do have real names let me know and I will change them. As for her apparent sister, as of right now I haven't included her. If enough people tell me that the sister does indeed exist then I may add her in later, and if she does exist we can just pretend that she was at a sleepover or at a grandparent's or something during the events of this chapter. If she does exist please include her age, what she looks like, and whether or not she has displayed any magical potential as of yet. Thank you.

* * *

"Hermione. How many times have we told you? No books at the table."

"Sorry, Mom. I'll put it away," she says, but then a word catches her eye and she helplessly continues to read anyway.

"Darling," her dad drags out.

Hermione looks up again, "Oh. Sorry." and places the bookmark before closing the large book, hesitantly moving it off to the side with continued glances at it as she eats.

"So," Mr. Granger breaks up the moment of silence. "This school of yours. What are the classes like? I remember the names sounded quite odd."

"Not quite odd, actually," responds Hermione. "There's Potions— kind of like Chemistry, I suppose— which we're required to take a few years of. There's History of Magic, our history class, and then we have Astronomy. Nothing out of the ordinary there, although it's more hands-on than textbook. The first years have a Flying class, which, I guess, is like driver's ed. There's a Herbology class, which just deals with how to handle plants. The only three I can't really find a muggle equivalent to is Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"So, no math or language classes, then," he comments as he stabs his fork into many small pieces of turkey, seeming a little displeased.

"Well, I imagine they expect us to know math basics already, and we continue to use math in many of our classes. We need to measure out ingredients for Potions, the Herbology teacher makes us recheck the volume of the pots to see if the plant can use it, and in Astronomy we do use formulas sometimes."

"That doesn't seem like nearly enough, and where are the language classes?"

At this point Hermione's completely forgotten about dinner, the fork having slipped from her hand, "When we're older, we get to pick electives. There are some languages." She hesitates, "But I'm afraid there don't seem to be many typical language options. I expect they expected us to know those already as well, or maybe they thought it would be easy enough for us to learn on our own. I think that even if someone hasn't learned a language, then there's plenty of magical options to help them speak and understand a human one temporarily."

Her dad grumbles, before her mom inquires, "Could you give some examples of what languages they allow for electives?"

Hermione strains a smile, "Yeah. I should mention, I've only heard of these, so since I haven't seen the options myself I don't know how accurate these are, but they seem to have a wide range of things." She continues to speak fast, as she always does, afraid someone will say they've heard enough before she gets a chance to finish. "They have some languages that involve learning pictographs like in Ancient Runes, and then they have some beast languages like Mermish to understand Mermaids, and then they have a select few human languages like Russian and Bulgarian."

"Beasts," her father exasperates. "Why would they teach you to speak to beasts? That's like trying to get lions and lambs to communicate with each other. It's just mad."

Hermione struggles to keep her smile, as she feels her eyes become warm with potential tears, "Considering that those beasts are sometimes sentient and contain mermaids and werewolves within its category, I don't think it's that mad."

Her dad shakes his head, "I can't believe we sent you to that school. It doesn't help prepare you for your future whatsoever."

"It's a school of magic," responds Hermione in slight annoyance and disbelief. "I'm surprised the classes correspond to those in the muggle world as much as they do. The purpose of the school is to learn how to control your magical ability, not to memorize stuff off from a page."

Her mom looks at her in surprise, "Surely, you're not telling us there's no practical reason to go to that school."

"No. I'm not saying that," Hermione assures. "I'm sure the classes given offer many job opportunities in the wizard world."

"But not in the muggle world, as you refer to our world as," her dad inserts.

"Probably not," Hermione meekly replies.

Her mother places a hand to her forehead, "Maybe this was a mistake." She looks at her husband, "Do you think it'd be too late to send her to that nice mannered all-girls school?"

Mr. Granger stands, "Not at all. It's going to be second semester soon. I bet I could give a call and make an appointment right now."

Hermione watches as her father walks over to the wall phone, "No. You can't do this."

He looks at her, "Why not?" as he holds the phone near to his chest. He seems to be genuinely waiting for a reason, a valid reason.

"Because I have friends at Hogwarts."

"You can't go to a school just because your friends are going there."

Hermione feels tears fall to her cheeks as her father begins to dial, "But I've worked so hard, and my grades are so good."

"You can get good grades anywhere," her mom inserts.

Hermione feels her face grow hot, her breaths beginning to shake, as her dad looks down at her with a solemn expression; however, his voice is stern and emotionless. "You've got thirty seconds to give me a practical reason as to why not to send you to another school."

Hermione gulps and takes a deep, shaky break, before she stands from the table. "You want a practical reason not to send me somewhere else," she cries out, and then the lights flicker once. "When someone with magic potential doesn't learn how to control their ability, they become a danger to themselves and everyone around them."

Mr. Granger looks at his wife, as he sees the lights begin to flicker again and the dial tone is heard coming from the house phone. His wife tries to reach out towards their daughter's arm and finds it shaking, "Hermione. Calm down." but her words do nothing but increase her daughter's crying.

Mr. Granger receives a look from his wife, and not even a moment later does Hermione's drink glass shatter. It was so close to her he's shocked a piece hadn't flown towards her to create a cut. He stands motionless for a moment, and he finds himself knowing only one thing of what to do. "Go upstairs to your room," he points to the stairs. Hermione stops crying, breathless for a moment, but the lights continue to flicker and become more rapid in doing so. When she doesn't leave he yells, "Go to your room. Now." and with that she runs off, the stairwell light breaking behind her on her way up.

Mrs. Granger looks at him in shocked disbelief, "Walter. We can't just leave her."

"And you think leaving her down here, Janet, is really the best thing, down here with all these breakables. You saw the glass. Do you want her to get hurt?"

"No. Of course, not." Her husband hangs the phone up and begins to pick up the shattered glass. "Do you think she was telling the truth about what she said, about people with magic becoming a danger to themselves and others if they're not taught how to control it?" She watches as her husband throws the shards away. "I mean, she didn't even have her wand. She couldn't have faked this."

"I know she wasn't faking this," Mr. Granger says as he takes a rag to the spilled milk. "She wasn't lying." There's silence as he finishes cleaning. "In fact, she was probably trying not to tell us about that. She's a smart girl. She knows that if she wanted to stay at the school so badly, then mentioning something that practical and important would be the way to do it."

"So, we are keeping her there, then?"

"I'm not sure about that," Mr. Granger sits down, looking around at the lights and seeing the flickering calm down a little. "This seems like the kind of thing good, old-fashioned emotional control could fix all by itself."

* * *

Hermione sits cross-legged on her bed, as she watches _The Sword in the Stone_ movie and snacks on some every flavor beans. She's glad she got the movie to work, because for a while the T.V. continued to shut off on her due to her emotional state; however, now in the middle of the movie she finds herself a lot calmer, even if she can feel her face is still raw from crying earlier. She sniffles a laugh, as the old wizard portraying Merlin seems to be completely oblivious to the danger his student Arthur is in. Merlin had transfigured them both into fish, and now the owl dives into the water in a poor attempt to rescue him.

There's a knock, and Hermione's smile slips as she looks towards her door. Her dad opens it slowly, "How are you doing?"

Hermione gulps, feeling tears starting to intrude her eyes again, and when she speaks her voice cracks, "Are you going to kick me out, disown me?"

Her father comes in and shuts the door, "What would ever give you that idea?" as he sits in the chair of her vanity dresser, which is topped with stacks of books and hair supplies.

"Well," she looks down for a moment. "It's just that your dad kicked you out, because you wanted to be a dentist and he wanted you to be a doctor." She begins to cry, "And I want to— I have to— go to this school, but you don't think it's practical." She shuts her eyes hard, trying to prevent any further tears and the potential headaches that could follow. Just the thought of getting kicked out for something she has no control over, it overwhelms her with grief.

When Mr. Granger sees the purple lamp flicker, he gets up to change seats and sits next to his daughter. He lifts up her chin, "We would never do that to you. We love you no matter what. Yes, we want you to be successful, but just because this thing has happened to you…" He has a hard time finding the words. "It doesn't mean we're any less proud of you." He leans in and gives her a hug, "Your mother and I are so very proud of you." He lets go. "You're so bright and beautiful, and we only just want you to live up to your potential."

Hermione gulps before trying to smile a reply, "I know."

He tries to smile too, and after a few seconds of quiet he comments, "Actually, a little bird literally came by just now and told your mom and me something." He reaches for his back pocket and pulls out an opened envelope which contains the Hogwarts crest.

Hermione's eyes widen, "Are those my semester grades?" Her dad nods, and so she excitedly pulls the envelope out from his hand and opens up the letter from inside.

"You did very well," he says. "Got an Outstanding in nearly everything."

"Except Flying," Hermione responds, a little disappointed.

"I'm not too worried about that," her dad responds. "I'd actually prefer for you to keep your feet firmly on the ground."

She smiles, "So, when we go traveling during the summer, are we not using airplanes then?"

"Well. That's different," he attempts to reason. "Planes are made of metal, which comes from the Earth. It's just like being on the ground."

"And," Hermione retorts, "brooms are made of wood. Very Earth-like."

He laughs, before he takes the letter back. "I'm going to find a good place to hang this up; although, I'm afraid the fridge isn't private enough for when guests come over."

Hermione frowns, "Are you disappointed that you can't show proof of how well I'm doing to your friends?"

He shakes his head, "No. Not really, anyway. It's fine. I'm just glad you've done so well." He pauses for a few seconds. "Your mom and I talked about it, and we came to the conclusion that it would be hard for anyone to finish a year's worth of classes in just one given semester. So, it would be impossible for you to catch up if we did decide to send you to another school right now."

"What does that mean, then?"

"What it means," he answers, "is that we've decided to let you finish the year out at Hogwarts. If we think it's helped you, we may even let you stay there." She smiles, and he continues with a warning. "But don't get too excited now. If we think it hasn't done you that much good, then you will be going to a different school next year. Granted, you would be a year behind your classmates, but your grades would probably be better then than if we were to send you there now."

"How am I supposed to prove Hogwarts has done me good?" she questions seriously.

Her dad shrugs, "Get good grades, mention anything practical or useful you've learned through letters, and if lights stop flickering or if drink glasses don't break during visits then that would be a good sign too."

Hermione quietly responds, "Sorry. I just— my mind— I couldn't stop thinking, and then I just got so upset, but I didn't mean to. I promise I didn't."

"We know you didn't." He places a hand on her shoulder, "It's fine. Everything is fine now. Okay?"

Hermione slightly smiles, "Okay." and not soon after her mom opens the door.

"How's it going in here?"

"Everything is great, honey." He looks back at their daughter and sees something shimmer in the light, "But tell me, does it look like she got glass in her hair?"

"Do I?" Hermione asks, as she reaches for her bushy hair.

"Yeah. I see it," her mom responds. "Sweetie, come sit here at your dresser, and I'll brush it out for you."

Hermione does as she's instructed, knowing she'd probably never be able to do this herself. She smiles as her mom hums and begins to brush from the bottom up, but then she sees her dad examining the box of every flavor beans.

"Darling, we don't allow candy in the house. You know that. I might just have to confiscate these."

"You don't want to do that," Hermione warns, her seriousness increasing.

"Why not? You know, jellybeans were my favorite as a child, and this says it has every flavor imaginable."

Hermione stills with shock, as her dad takes a small handful and eats them all at once. Immediately, he seems completely grossed out, the back of his hand covering his mouth. "Which is why you shouldn't eat them," she finally lets out. "Especially never more than one or two at a time. When they say every flavor they mean every flavor, even the bad ones."

"And to think," he coughs. "You were just eating them in front of the telly like some midevening snack."

"They're a favorite of Gryffindors," she explains. "Every bite is a dare, and it never gets boring because you never know what to expect."

"Yes. Yes. Very exciting." He places a hand to his mouth again, "I'm just going to go back to the kitchen and rinse it out with some orange juice or maybe some chardonnay." He walks out of the door, "You two girls have fun now." and after he leaves they both laugh.

* * *

\- While finishing up Hermione's hair, her mother puts it into a ponytail. Why didn't I put this into the chapter and use that time to have the mother compliment how beautiful her daughter looks? Well, because I reached the end of the page, and I really don't like having a page have only a single line or paragraph. When that happens I either reword something, make it shorter, or make it longer (so that at least half of that last page is used). This time I just ended things a little abruptly (in my opinion). I'm sorry. Btw, thank you for everyone who's read this fanfiction in it's entirety (and for those who actually listen to the trigger warnings when you know you should, most of it's entirety). Congratulations. As of now, you've officially read 254 pages of 12 point font and 1.5 line spacing. *Clap*Clap* You must really like my work. I sincerely hope I've done enough justice to not have this have been a complete waste of time. I hope you enjoyed. Now. Onto the next chapter.


	62. Deal

\- **Trigger Warning** for purge-type bulimia, purge-type anorexia, and for purging (a disorder specified with recurrent purging without any occurrences of binging) for second part of chapter. It's a fail, but I still feel like the action of it could be enough to trigger an impulse or memory for some people. Those with nonpurge-subtype disorders should be able to read, but continue at your own discretion. Enjoy!

* * *

This year it's the Malfoy's turn to host the winter gala, and as Draco walks down the stairs to the main floor he's a little surprised at how different everything looks. It was no longer the dark, bleak colors from before. Now, as he looks around, all he sees are whites, blues, and golds, and he looks around at the pretense wondering how this was supposed to represent their family and lives. _I know the winter gala has specific colors, but did they really have to change the wall and floor colors as well? It doesn't even look like our house anymore… but maybe that's a good thing._ He reaches for the green tie of his white suit, starting to feel a little suffocated, but then a loud clank of the front door knocker is heard and he strides over to open it.

Immediately, a girl in a puffy, light blue dress lunges at him, and he raises his arms in surrendering horror as he sees Daphne standing near the door with blue polished nails hovering over her mouth as she laughs. Draco looks down the back of the girl who's hugging him, and after seeing the straight, dark brown hair he takes her by the shoulders and forces her off of him. "Astoria. You're early."

She smiles, "I know, but I couldn't wait to see you."

"Couldn't you?" Draco tries to ask nonchalantly as he watches his father greet Astoria's parents, Daphne's eyes still glued to them like they're some amazing book or other form of entertainment.

Astoria sways back-and-forth, acting completely innocent, as her smile widens, "Your present was lovely. You're so poetic."

"Am I?" Draco questions as he looks around fruitlessly for some way to escape, Daphne's stifled laughs louder than ever. _Doesn't she have anything better to do?_

"Yes, you are."

Draco sees Astoria try to embrace him again, but he takes hold of her hands before she can, "Let's just sit somewhere. Have some water or something."

"That sounds nice."

"Then come on," Draco responds as he lets go of one hand and guides her with the other. He seats her at the long table, the cloth of which has changed to a shimmering blue, before he moves around the table to sit on the other side. He glances at her for a moment, before hastily ringing the bell. The house elf, which was given permission to apparate during what would become a busy night, appears in front of him. "Ice water." He sees Astoria smiling at him, "Ah, and get her some lemonade."

After the elf disappears Astoria asks, "What do you think of my hair?"

"Your hair?" he asks, scrunching his eyebrows.

"Yeah. Do you like it?"

 _What?_ He looks over her hair, wondering what could have changed, but the only thing he notices is her blue and purple, shimmering butterfly hairpiece. "It looks nice," he settles for, trying not to name anything specific in case he's wrong.

She pouts, "You don't like it, do you?"

"No. I never said that," he reassures, before two pitchers appear in front of them. "Hey. Look at this. Lemonade." He pours her a glass, "Here you go."

She smiles, "Thank you." and Draco takes a breath of relief as he fills up his own glass with ice water. "How is Hogwarts? What's it like?"

Draco offers a confused look as he takes a drink. "Didn't you read the letter?"

"Yes. Of course, I did, silly." She scoots closer, "But I want to hear you talk about it."

"Oh." Draco takes another large drink, before he sets the empty glass down and refills it, "Well, um, the library is nice. It's not too bright but not too dim, and in the Great Hall the ceiling is enchanted to look like the sky from outside, so that's always nice."

"You said they have food. Do they have chocolate cupcakes and cookies? What about peanut butter celeries? I love peanut butter celeries."

"They have just about anything you can think of," Draco frowns.

"And the classes. How are the classes?"

"They're okay, I guess." Draco takes a sip of the cold water, the manor getting a little warmer as more people enter. "It really depends on the teacher."

"Do you really like it there?" she prompts with a smile, before she licks her lips and hums of pure happiness as she admires her drink.

"You know, I haven't given it much thought," Draco comments, trying to hide his irritation, "but right now I've got to say yes. I really like it there."

"It's a good thing your mom sent you there, then."

"What?" Draco shakes his head. "No. My father sent me there."

"No," she comments mildly, before she gulps down the rest of the lemonade as if it were the best thing on the planet. "My sister told me that my mom talked to your mom and that your mom said that she was able to convince your dad to send you to Hogwarts instead."

"What?" asks Draco in confusion.

"They were in our living room when my sister heard them talk."

"No. Wait. Go back." Draco puts his hands up in the air before slowly moving them downward, "Slow down. Did you just say that my mother convinced my father to send me to Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang?"

"Yeah. My sister told me."

Draco shakes his head again, "Why did my father tell me it was his idea, then?"

"She probably made him think it was his idea." Draco looks up behind Astoria and smiles of relief. Goyle taps her shoulder, and then she turns around. "Do you mind if I take your seat? I need to talk to my friend for a moment."

She crosses her arms and whines, "But I was talking to him."

Goyle smiles, "Come on. He's yours all night. You get to sit next to him at dinner. You get to dance with him. All I want to do is talk to him."

"Ah. Fine," she pouts, before she wonders off towards her older sister, who's currently being chatted away by her own fiancé.

"Thanks for saving me," Draco comments before finishing off another glass of water.

"It couldn't have been that bad," Goyle smiles, but then he frowns. "Was it?"

Draco rolls his eyes, "I never want to talk to another girl again." but then his thoughts move toward Granger. "Well, maybe I could bother to talk to one again, under the condition that they stop asking me trick questions about their appearance." He takes a drink. "That mudblood is all kinds of wrong, but at least she's obsessed with books and not looks."

"Unlike you, then," Goyle jokes.

Draco mumbles, "I'm not obsessed with looks." before he takes another drink.

"Uh-hmm. Let me ask you—" He hesitates, "Do you wear nail polish?"

Draco coughs on his water, and he brings a hand to his throat as he tries to clear it. When he speaks his voice is just a little raspy, "Well, sometimes. Just a clear coat." He takes a sip from his water, and his voice steadily goes back to normal, "It's a concealer."

"I figured that much. Everything you use is a concealer." Draco doesn't speak, and Goyle looks around to make sure no one's listening before he continues. "May I ask you, were you supposed to wear it tonight, because it looks like you aren't?"

"What?" Draco whispers, before he looks down at the nails clutching his glass. At the top of them you can see where they've been cracked on the inside, as it appears as horrible white spots on the near clear surface. On the bottom the nails are tinged with icy blue, as his fingers remain cold even in the heat of the manor. "Damn it. I knew I forgot something."

"Maybe no one will notice," Goyle responds hopefully.

"No," says Draco. "I have some stashed in my toiletry bag. I'll put it on now." He stands from the table, and Goyle follows him as he rushes up the stairs into his room and then into his private bathroom. "This will just take a few minutes," Draco comments, as he slides the brush across his fingernails.

Goyle looks out towards the bedroom door, before he looks around the very clean bedroom, and then finally at the black and green bag on top of the silver marble sink counter. "May I ask you another question?"

"That depends. What is it?"

Goyle glances at the objects inside of the necessity bag, "Your father, did he actually pray for what he said he'd pray for?" before he begins to shift through the items.

"What? You mean my health?" Goyle doesn't respond. "Yeah. He did, although, obviously not in those exact words."

"It didn't work, did it?" he speculates.

"What would make you think that?" Draco tries to respond calmly, as he watches his friend search his bag.

"Because you do things like that," Goyle gestures to Draco's nails. He looks back at the bag before pulling something out, and then shows it to Draco. "Because you still have this."

Draco gulps. _He'd only have to read two words to know what that is._ He licks the inside of his lips, before he shakes his head. "No. It worked. I'm better now. I promise."

Goyle sighs before putting the eye cream back, and then looks at his friend again, "Do you want to know how I know you're not better?" Draco doesn't answer. "I know you're not better, because you're promising you are."

"But I am," Draco stresses. "I swear my life on it."

Goyle looks back behind himself for a moment, before he responds, "Fine." and Draco smiles. "If you're better, then prove it." His friend's smile falters. "I'm guessing your mother is going to feel obligated to put things on your plate for you this time." He challenges, "I expect you to eat every bite."

Draco shrugs, "Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Sure. I'll do it." He smirks, "But when I do, I want you to get off my back about using concealers to keep up appearances. Just because I use them doesn't mean I have a problem. Some of these affects take a while to recover from, you know."

Goyle brings his hand out, "Then we have a deal." and Draco takes it before they shake once on their agreement.

* * *

After dinner Draco calmly walks over to the main floor bathroom. He would have used his own bathroom so no one could hear, but after going upstairs earlier to put on the nail concealer his father had forbade him to go back up. _He thinks I was trying to hide away or something stupid like that._ There's someone inside, and he's not surprised at all to hear the retching. He knows who it is. It's just unlucky for her that his father hadn't thought to put a silencing charm on the bathrooms for privacy yet. _I suppose, it's unlucky for us now too._

When the door opens he's met with a black woman in a golden dress. She furrows her thin eyebrows at him, "How long have you been there?"

She's Blaise's mother, the black widow. _Maybe she killed them because they found out and tried to stop her._ Draco shakes his head, "I didn't hear anything." She twists her head, before he realizes he answered the wrong question. _I answered what she wanted to know, not what she asked._ He tries to smile, and after a brief moment of suspicion she turns away. He stands there for a moment and merely watches her, as she's now intergraded with the rest of the party. _She smiles as if nothing just happened… It's amazing how far a smile can get you._

Draco shakes himself from his thoughts and enters the bathroom, making sure to lock the door after he enters. He looks into the mirror and clutches his stomach, as he feels the bottom of his throat burn. He looks into the sink basin as he coughs. _Why'd there have to be so much grease?_ He rocks back-and-forth a couple times, his hands placed on the edge of the counter. He's not sure what he's going to do. All he knows is that if he doesn't get rid of the rich and greasy food that's caused his stomach to be so queasy on his own accord, then he's pretty sure his stomach will rid itself of it when it is least convenient for him. _And my father would be just furious if all that spinning from the dance we're about to do would result in me barfing all over Astoria… even if he could just blame it on the flu again, but how likely is it to get the flu at the same time within two years?_

He coughs as the burning sensation begins to creep up his throat, and then he places the back of his wrist to his forehead. _It's almost like I'm burning up._ He looks to the toilet and back to the mirror, and he clenches his stomach tighter. He knows he shouldn't. He doesn't even have his wand to cast the spell that Blaise's mother sometimes uses. _No. It's up there along with my private bathroom, neither of which I'm allowed to get to right now._ There's a knock at the door. "Go away!" _It's probably Goyle or Crabbe. Damn it._ He stands still for a minute, but he can't hear anything. _Maybe it wasn't them, or maybe they left._

Draco turns on the tap water and cups his hands to take a few drinks, hoping that will settle his stomach some. It doesn't. Actually, it makes it worse. He listens to the running water as he stares into the mirror. He's a mess, and even with all of his concealers on it can still be seen. He looks away and sighs, as he feels the bottom of his throat burn more. _I have to get rid of it here and now, while I still can._ He kneels in front of the toilet and winces, as his bony knees press hard against the tile. _That's going to leave a bruise._ The woman before him had kept up appearances well, making sure to put the seat back down after the purge, but now Draco lifts it back up, his hand shaking as he does so. _I shouldn't do this. How am I supposed to do this, anyway? I don't even have my wand._ A voice whispers in his mind, _"You know how."_ and with that Draco takes a deep breath. "Right." It was true. He's been looking for any kind of explanation behind his behavior since that incident last year, and when he had started Hogwarts he had struck a goldmine. There was nothing really graphic, but with the occasional mention and by reading between the lines he was able to figure it out himself. He whispers, "Just shove the fingers down your throat."

After taking another deep breath, trying to relax some, he takes his two longest fingers and presses them against the wall of his mouth and throat. He splutters, but nothing really comes up. He tries again more forcefully and then again, until he does retch something; however, by the looks of things it wasn't a lot, just water. He coughs and shakes his head, as he uses the counter to pull himself up from the floor. _Maybe it's just not for me._ His thoughts are silent as he takes a moment to use the toilet the way a normal person would, before he flushes and goes to wash his hands beneath the still running sink water. _Maybe I can't do it because I don't have what she has, because I'm not bulimic like she is. Or maybe I just don't have enough practice or the nerve to follow through._ He shakes his head. _I wish I had my wand. What's the use of having an artifact protect your house from the Ministry's trace if you never use your wand anyway?_ He shuts off the faucets with a forceful twist, before he opens the door to reveal Blaise.

Draco stands and stares for a moment, not knowing whether he's more scared or paranoid that someone who wasn't even a friend had been standing outside for who knows how long. The dark-skinned boy smiles, "I didn't hear anything."

"Right," Draco drags out in long, unbelieving suspicion. When Blaise doesn't respond he continues, "Good, because nothing happened. I don't have quite the skill your mother has."

Blaise's smile falls slightly, "Look. I didn't mean to intrude here. It's just that I've been looking to get you alone all night."

"Why?" Draco scrunches he eyebrows. "You hate me."

"Hate is a strong word," he responds, before he smiles again. "Look. I know what your father confiscated from you that one day."

"Great. You know my little secret," Draco sneers. "May I leave now?"

Blaise raises his hands, "I won't tell anyone. I swear."

"Then why did you confront me?" he whispers forcefully. "You could have just kept it to yourself and then used it against me later."

"I want to help you," Blaise insists.

Draco laughs, "I don't need help. I'm fine." before he shoves past and begins to walk away.

"I have something you want."

Draco stops in his tracks before turning around, "What do you mean?"

Blaise walks up to him and looks around before commenting, "My mom has these things called scales stashed all around the house. The muggles use them to keep track of their weight. I can get one for you if you'd like."

Draco finds his mouth slightly agape with shock, "You're not honestly enabling me when your own mother has a similar issue."

"What issue?" he asks, and it seems genuine.

"That she throws up after meals," Draco hisses.

"Oh. That." Blaise shrugs, "She only does that for special occasions."

Draco gives a look, "Is that what she told you?"

"Well, yeah." He sees Draco continuing to give that look of disbelief. "What? You think I shouldn't believe her? She's my mom. Why would she lie to me?"

"I don't know," Draco says sarcastically. "Why would I lie to my parents? Why would I keep secrets from my friends?" Blaise seems a little put off. "She's probably scared of what's happening, but she might also not have enough control to want to stop. This thing—" Draco shakes his head as he thinks of the monster, "It makes you lie and do things you wouldn't ever want to do, and it will do anything to prevent people from finding out that it exists."

"So," Blaise hesitates, "you don't want the scale, then?"

"No. Of course I want it," Draco says in absurdity. "What's the catch?"

Blaise huffs a laugh, "It's nothing really. My grades just aren't the best, because I'm always way too busy having fun. I was thinking you could do my homework for a month, and if you agree I can give you the scale when we're back at Hogwarts."

"Won't they know it's not yours, if it's not in your handwriting?"

"Oh, please," Blaise gestures with a hand. "I've got you covered there, man. I just got this quill made that will use my handwriting."

"Isn't that expensive?" Draco remarks.

Blaise shrugs, "I had to use my allowance somehow. I usually like to buy the newest and nicest clothes, but considering I wasn't even able to fit one tenth of my wardrobe into my trunk for Hogwarts I figured I should spend it on something else this time."

"Right," Draco says before placing a hand to his forehead. "Okay. Yeah. You've got yourself a deal."

"Shake on it," he comments, outreaching his arm, and then Draco does the same, and the deal is completed with a handshake. Blaise smiles, "Nice doing business with you."

Draco scrunches up his face before scoffing, "Don't get used to it."


	63. The Most Desperate of Desires

"Back again, Harry?"

Harry had been sitting in front of the trick mirror, his invisibility cloak having been wrapped around his forearms and legs for warmth, but now he looks behind him with a start, alarmed to have heard the voice. _I guess I was so focused on the mirror that I didn't hear the footsteps…_ Harry closes his awed mouth and gulps, "Professor Dumbledore. I didn't hear you."

The headmaster merely smiles, "That can happen when you lose contact with reality." Harry glances back at the mirror. "I see you've found the Mirror of Erised."

"The mirror of what?" asks Harry as he begins to stand to his feet.

"The Mirror of Erised," Dumbledore repeats in his aged voice. "As many before you, you've been compelled back to it, I see." Harry doesn't speak. "Hundreds have wasted away in front of the mirror, as you have these last few nights."

"Am I in trouble?" Harry responds, completely aware that his promise not to get caught has indeed been broken for several nights now. "Because I just wanted to—"

"To see you family again," Dumbledore inserts. "I understand, Harry. You are in no trouble here. I just need you to understand fully what you've stumbled upon, and when I give you this knowledge I hope you will not feel the need to see this mirror again."

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but he's quiet for a moment, not really understanding what's so bad about wanting to see his parents again, whether it be real or not, "Draco said it was a trick mirror. I know it's not really real." Harry feels his eyes burn with tears, but as the anger over his parents' demise seems to burn more, the tears are never freed. He's too angry to be sad. "I just wanted to see them again. I wanted to think of what it'd be like—" He doesn't finish.

Dumbledore nods in a sad understanding, the silence overtaking the blue moonlit room before he takes a few steps further, "I know how it feels to have found a loved one you thought you had lost and to imagine how things could have gone differently, but it does no good to dwell on dreams and forget to live. I think both you and I can agree that your parents would have wanted more for you than that." Harry only nods, unable to reject that truth, and soon the headmaster moves further down the rows of desks and closer to Harry. "The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, and I must ask you, Harry, to please not go looking for it again." He pauses, seeming to actually expect an answer to his comment.

Harry shakes himself from his accustomed quiet, very used to orders and not implied questions, "I promise." The headmaster's smile widens, and Harry nervously musters up the courage to ask, "Sir, why does this school have a trick mirror that's so mean?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes narrow, as he looks down in question, "Do you believe the mirror is mean, Harry?"

He shakes his head, "Not me, but that's just because I'm imagining what it would be like to have my parents back, because I was dwelling on dreams as you said, but Draco." Harry shuts his mouth, not wanting Draco to possibly get into trouble too, but then he remembers that he already implicated him earlier. He shakes his head, licking his lips before responding, "He said the mirror was the meanest mirror he's ever seen."

"Has Mr. Malfoy seen a lot of mean mirrors in his day," Dumbledore seems to respond with intrigue.

Harry shrugs, letting out a stressed breath, "Apparently." The headmaster nods but doesn't speak, and Harry looks to the ground, remembering the night that had transpired. "Draco seemed so scared. He was nervous. He wanted nothing more than to never see the mirror again." Harry hears the headmaster take a solemn breath, the foreboding look of concern enveloping his face. Harry hesitates, "What is it?"

The headmaster takes a moment to speak, coming closer to place a hand on the student's shoulder, "Harry. You see, what troubles me is that this is no ordinary trick mirror." He glowers down, emphasizing with his eyes just how serious this is, "The Mirror of Erised shows us nothing more or less than our deepest, most desperate desire. That's why many find it so compelling, because it shows them what they most want, something they may not have recognized they wanted but the very thing they most desired nonetheless."

Harry wets his lips again, finding his mouth suddenly dry and hoarse, "But Draco didn't see anything. He saw a world that didn't exist, a world where he didn't exist. You're not telling me that someone would actually want that?"

Dumbledore moves his hand from Harry's shoulder to his back, "Come. Sit with me." He walks Harry over to a desk, and they each remove a chair from the desktop to sit in. The headmaster takes a deep breath, "Harry. I'm not proud to tell this to you, to someone so young, but— do you still want to know?"

"Of course," Harry confidently comments, as if any other option simply wouldn't be a choice. "Draco is my friend, and I don't understand how a mirror that's supposed to show you what you want most could show him something he was so scared of."

Dumbledore seems to think carefully before responding, "The first thing you must know, Harry, is that this mirror doesn't necessarily show us something happy. It merely shows us what we most desire. It shows us what's in our heart, not what is in our thoughts. Your friend, Draco Malfoy, may not even know this is something he wants, but on some level he very much does."

"But to not exist?" Harry questions in absurdity. "Who would want that?"

The silver haired headmaster hesitates, "For some people, Harry, living life is the hardest thing for them. Most people when they look into the mirror find a change, but for those who've lost hope in that change ever happening, they may see a world where both it and they don't exist." Harry is silent, so he continues, "It's a hard thing, I know, but it happens."

"I just—" Harry begins, but he finds that both his thoughts and feelings on the subject are numb. "Does this mean he doesn't want to live?"

"No," the headmaster says quietly before a moment of thought. "He's still young, and by the way you described his reaction I doubt it's been at the forefront of his mind. No. It's just a subconscious feeling he's had. He maybe feels things would be easier if either he or the world didn't exist, but I believe he very much wants to live."

Harry stays still, "So, I'm not going to lose him then?"

Dumbledore softly smiles as he shakes his head, "No, my dear boy. Not now." and this relaxes Harry as he's filled with relief. "However." Harry finds his relief short-lived. "These kind of feelings, they don't just go away. There are things you may need to watch for."

"What kind of things?" Harry asks slowly and unsurely.

"A sudden happiness after a long period of the lack of is most common. Easier signs include giving away prized possessions, losing interest in activities one once enjoyed, and a fascination with death— like ways one can die or how life would be after death."

"What happens if he does these things? What will happen?"

"I don't want you to worry about that," the headmaster bypasses. "Just come and tell me if or when he begins this kind of behavior." He gives a look, "He hasn't been doing these things yet, has he?"

Harry shakes his head, "No. Er, well, I mean, I don't think so."

Dumbledore smiles a little nod, "Good. Now, on to you."

"Me?" Harry questions, a bit shocked.

"Yes, you," the headmaster responds. "I noticed you've decided to stay during the holidays, and after your comment during the sorting hat ceremony about the Dursleys' mistreatment of you earlier this year, I must ask— is there anything I should know?"

Harry shakes his head firmly, "No. It's nothing. They just favor their son. It's to be expected. They took me in out of charity. It was nice of them."

Dumbledore gives an expectant look, "And having a cupboard as a bedroom, was that also to be expected?"

Harry gulps before forcing a smile, "My uncle gave me Dudley's second bedroom just before I came here. He said I was getting too big for my cupboard, so he gave Dudley's room to me. It was nice of him."

The headmaster pauses for a moment, "Wasn't it displeasing, though, living in that cupboard for so many years?"

Harry shrugs, and this time he's able to answer honestly. Well, in half honesty anyway. "I kind of liked it, actually. It was cozy, and the spiders were friendly."

"There were spiders in there?"

Harry grows quiet for a second. For all the things that were written in the addresses of his letters, apparently they had known nothing about the spiders. "I guess my aunt let me have too much privacy. I could have probably cleaned it myself, but like I said— the spiders were kind of nice and friendly."

"So, that's it then," Dumbledore seems to respond in near disbelief. "Are you sure there's nothing you'd like to tell me?"

"Nope," Harry responds immediately with wide eyes and a big smile.

The headmaster lets out what seems to be an unsure breath, "Well, if that's really the case, then I don't see a need to keep you any longer. You best get to bed. It's late." Harry picks up his cloak and heads for the door, but before he puts it on Dumbledore comments, "Oh. And Harry." Harry looks back around in a curious frown, his mind still void of thoughts as he works the situation. "Do tell me if either you or Mr. Malfoy get into any sort of trouble. I'd hate for something to happen to a student, knowing I may have been able to prevent it." Harry simply nods with a glib smile, but as he wanders down to the dungeon beneath his invisibility cloak he can only feel bad about lying to someone who seemed to only want to help. _But he wouldn't be helping,_ Harry reminds himself. _He'd just be making it worse._

* * *

\- It's very clear Harry is lying. It sounds like he's just reading from a script, but the mask people put on to convince others that they're okay can be hard to see past. Harry also responds very fast after Dumbledore asks "Is there anything you'd like to tell me", so if he was trying to use legilimency to know Harry's true thoughts on the matter it probably didn't work well. This was kind of a sad chapter, but I hope you guys liked it. I don't know what my favorite part was, but right now I'm thinking it was just Harry's responses to Dumbledore's questions. My least favorite part has to be just that Dumbledore informs someone so young on the topic of suicide, even if he never specifically says what the result of the warning signs could be. And yes, I realize there are probably a ton more warning signs than that, but I think these are the more basic ones that would be easier to spot... Going back to this chapter, though, does kind of upset me a little, just because when I wrote this I thought that suicide or an attempt of it wouldn't happen until around year three; however, including this chapter I have eight new chapters written, and the last one of these looks like it may be the beginning of a catalyst for this kind of thing to happen. Also, having planned some chapters after that, a lot of horrible stuff does happen that could further provoke a character into doing this kind of thing. I'm not saying it will happen, and actually I'm really hoping it doesn't, but there are two paths this can go. Which one is taken kind of really depends on the characters, as I really don't want to be one of those writers that force the characters into or out of something that they would or wouldn't do. In the next chapter Harry confronts Draco on what the information bank had told him. Hopefully it will pull at your heartstrings.


	64. The Hurt

\- So, after reading this again it does seem like Draco gets a little too easily irritated, but he's probably just getting really sick of people prying and asking if he's okay. Also, when you're just tired and running on fumes, it can be pretty easy to get annoyed at any little thing that makes the day less than easy to get through. A lack of sleep or nutrition can also impair thinking processes, so things that would seem easy for someone to do might just feel like the hardest thing for another. I don't know. My explanation might be a bit dramatic, but the statement is still valid. I know that as far as I go that if it seems like I'm not allowed to sleep, then everything hits me a lot harder. Food is also said to give energy or whatever, so following that train of thought someone with a lack of food or proper nutrition may get annoyed that they have to put energy (that they don't have to spare) into some unforeseen problem/argument/activity. Also, I do realize that Harry has read Romeo and Juliet, so he does know of the concept of suicide, but in Shakespeare's day and in writing suicide was perceived as either something that just happened or was just some simple plot device. So, even though Harry does know of the concept, because in stories the "plot device" is often misguided in its use, the fact that Dumbledore attempts to tell Harry the reality of the concept when he's so young is still a big deal. Reading Romeo and Juliet, there are no warning signs really. It happens very suddenly, just as in many stories there seems to be very little of a reason for the character to do such an act. So, reading a story and thinking that the characters were just being dramatic/stupid/childish (not that I think that) or that it was just for plot convenience is different than actually being told it happens, that there's signs leading up to it happening, and that it often does happen for a reason (whether that reason is just a bunch of "small" things building up on top of each other or one very large impactful event). There's no actual abuse or suicide in this chapter, but the concepts are talked about so I guess I should warn you of that. Here's the chapter. Enjoy.

* * *

"Draco. I didn't realize you'd be back."

Draco looks up from his journal after hearing Harry's unsure, mellow voice, "What? You thought my parents would still have me? Classes do start up again tomorrow."

"I know." Draco watches as Harry's eyes drift to the floor, as he wets his lips in contemplation of what to say. "So," he looks up again. "How was it?"

"Good," Draco continues to frown. "I read that book you mentioned to me, the play by Shakespeare."

"Oh. Did you?" Harry takes a step forward.

"Yeah," Draco quickly smiles, but only for a second. "I liked how dedicated they were to each other. It was nice."

Harry licks his lips again, "It would be, except that they killed themselves in the end. You know that's not an option?"

"It's not a good option," Draco answers critically. "But since they did do it, clearly it was an option."

Harry takes a few more steps and grabs onto the post of his bed, "Draco. Tell me. Really. How are you?"

"I said I'm fine," Draco nearly shouts with wide eyes.

"It's just." Harry looks towards the ground for another second, "Your father—"

"What about my father," Draco sneers.

Harry lets out an irritated breath, looking back up at his friend in tiredness, "Has he done anything to you? I know he has before."

"How could you possibly know that?" he yells, standing upright from the bed.

"Just answer me," Harry responds quietly. "Did something happen while you were away?" He watches Draco look away and knows immediately that the next words will be a lie.

"No," he states unblinkingly, making him look more confident than he sounds. "I promised nothing would happen."

"I don't care what you promised," Harry says insistently. "If nothing happened, then prove it to me." He nods down, "Show me your arms."

"What will that prove?" he defends.

"Just do it," Harry says loudly with impatience. Draco slightly rolls his eyes as he slides his sleeves half way up. "Further," Harry says, not having seen any marks. Draco gives a look before pulling one of the black sleeves to his shoulder, revealing some short, pink lines. "What are those?"

Draco looks down, seemingly surprised, but then he huffs a laugh at the sight, "Ah. Those. They're nothing." He looks back up at Harry, "They're old. I'd taken a shower, and my nails were still chipped from Herbology."

"What were you doing? Trying to scratch your skin off?"

Draco smiles, "I felt like it, but no. I always use my nails. I've found that nothing else works quite as well to get rid of dead skin." Harry looks a little displeased but doesn't push it.

"Okay," he shakes his head. "Now, the other."

"Haven't I shown you enough?" Draco protests.

He gives a look, "I need to know."

After mild hesitation Draco hurriedly pulls up his other sleeve to the shoulder, immediately launching into an explanation as he sees Harry's concern, "He was just trying to get me away from the book long enough to eat. I was lying on the couch, and he pulled me up. It's nothing, really. I'm fine."

Harry shakes his head, "Draco. We've got to tell someone."

"No," he asserts with a step forward, pulling down his sleeves as he does so. "I promise you, it's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Harry objects. "It's happened before, hasn't it? The bruise you blamed on a book; I knew it wasn't true, but I didn't think—" He shakes his head. "This is serious."

"It was an accident," Draco stresses before wetting his lips, continuing in a near whisper, even though no one else is currently present. "I just bruise easily. He wouldn't have known."

"Why don't you just ask him to stop, then," Harry asks, "if him being ruff with you is only an accident?" He watches as Draco blinks, looks to the floor, and blinks again. "Unless, you think it wasn't an accident, that he did do it on purpose."

When Draco looks back up a few tears escape his eyes, "I'm not sure what to think." and he wipes the tears with his sleeve before crossing his arms.

"We've got to tell someone," Harry insists.

"No." Draco stares at him with wide eyes. "You wouldn't do that."

"Why shouldn't I?" Harry whispers the shout, stretching out his arm. "If someone is hurting you—"

"Then it will only get worse if it's made public, and if you do that to me I'll be sure to do the same to you. I'll make sure to tell the headmaster all about how badly the Dursleys treat you. I'll tell him how you get burned when they rush you to cook breakfast, I'll tell him about your uncle losing control of his anger, and I'll be sure to mention how you can get locked in that cupboard for a full weekend with nothing but water."

"But that's different," Harry mumbles. "A lot of kids have chores, and teens get sent to their bedroom all the time. They took me in out of charity. They're not my parents, not like yours are to you. This is different."

Draco huffs, his eyes still wide, a defensive smile of disbelief on his face, "Are you sure that's how Dumbledore will see it, that it's different just because they're not your parents? They're your aunt and uncle! It's not that much different, Harry." Draco watches as his friend looks down to the floor, before he takes a sad, calming breath and walks nearer to him. He places a hand tightly on Harry's shoulder, "I would never do that to you. You know how bad it can be to tell anyone anything, to make something so disgraceful public— it can make things a lot worse. I'd never hurt you like that, just as I'm sure you'd never want to hurt me."

Harry looks up, tears having fallen from his eyes as well, "It's different seeing it happen to someone else. I hate seeing you get hurt."

"And I hate you getting hurt," Draco responds softly, as he removes the fringe of Harry's hair away from his eyes and takes the tears off his cheeks with a thumb. "But we'll make it through this. We've managed it this far, haven't we?" Harry only nods, gulping as he tries to prevent any more tears from falling. "We just need to trust that the other will confess if things get too out of hand." He places the hand on Harry's other shoulder, "Can you do that for me?"

Harry nods, "Yes. I can." He blinks, as he smiles hopefully, "And you. Can you do that for me?"

Draco partly smiles, "Yeah. I think I can."

Harry's smile widens, and it looks like he's about to cry again but this time from happiness, "You promise?"

Draco laughs, "You don't want me to promise. If I promise, then I won't."

"But you will?" Harry persists.

Draco smiles as he sees Harry's bright, lake green eyes shimmer with hope, "Yeah. I will."

Harry wraps his arms around him, "You're such a good friend." and it takes a moment for Draco to get over the shock, before he reluctantly returns the hug.

"Yeah." He finds his breathing settle, as the moment stretches and he calms down even further, "You're a good friend too."

Then there's a creak of the door, and they both break apart suddenly. Blaise gives an intrigued look, "What's going on here?"

Harry and Draco give each other a silent look, before Draco responds, "The holidays were unpleasant. It was nice to see a familiar face."

"So, you initiated," Blaise gestures between the two, "whatever that was?"

"The hug?" Draco questions loudly, making sure to stress it was a completely normal thing to do between friends. "Yeah. I did. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. I just—" Blaise shakes his head before he rushes over to his bed, pulling a brown, square package from beneath it. "I got what you ordered."

Draco smiles, impressed, as Blaise walks over and hands the package to him. It looks a lot like something that could have gone by owl, not looking nearly as suspicious as one would think a muggle object would look. "Thanks. I'll be sure to pay you later."

"Oh. I know you will," Blaise comments confidently. "Because if you don't, then I'll have to take it back."

Draco's smile slips, "You don't have to worry. I'll pay you." _It will be good doing twice the assignments. That way I have twice the opportunity to learn_. "How long did you say I have?"

"A single month," Blaise smiles cunningly, "and I expect the payment to be good. I don't want to find myself having been swindled here."

"Don't worry," Draco stresses in annoyance. "The pay will be good. I guarantee it."

"It better be," Blaise threatens, "because if it isn't, then things that are shh may not be so shh anymore." his finger to his lips during the 'shh' sounds.

"I get it," Draco yells. "You have something on me. Now, can you get out of here?"

With a smirk Blaise leaves toward his bed, and Harry whispers in concern, "What does he have on you? Is it your—"

"No," Draco interrupts, turning to Harry. "He just knows about my health issues."

"Oh." There's an awkward silence, as Blaise studies them. "So. Fancy a game of chess?"


	65. The Best Story They've Never Read

"Harry. Did you hear me?"

"Huh. What?" he asks, suddenly aware of the intense look on Hermione's face as they sit in the corner of the library.

She takes a big breath, "Clearly not." and shakes her head.

"Sorry," Harry mutters. "My mind's just a little cluttered."

Hermione places the pen down after closing her purple, spiral notebook, "Okay, then. Let's sort through it. We have all afternoon."

Harry mumbles, "Sorry. I know this is important. It's just—"

"Harry," Hermione interrupts. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or are you just going to keep wasting valuable time by saying how sorry you are?"

"Sorry," Harry comments automatically before shutting his eyes and smiling.

"It's fine," Hermione grins. "Please. Continue."

"Right," Harry begins, and then his eyes downcast. "Well, you see, something happened."

"Obviously," she nearly laughs. She sees Harry continue to stare at the table, "Harry. What happened?"

"I don't know how to say this," he comments, putting a hand to his forehead.

"Harry," Hermione reassures, placing a hand over his free one. "Whatever it is, you can trust me. Just tell me."

"Alright." Harry puts down his arm and takes a deep breath. "Yesterday, I hugged Draco and when someone saw he said he started it. Is that odd?"

Hermione's eyes squint as she grins, "Is that really what you were so worried about? Harry, friends hug all the time. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Harry looks away for a second, "It's not just about shame. It's just—" He takes a stressed breath and looks back to her, "Girls may hug a lot, but guys aren't usually so touchy-feely. If guys touch it's usually just rough, or at least from what I've seen."

After he doesn't speak for a minute Hermione questions, "So, are you asking me why I think you hugged him, or what exactly?"

"No," Harry shakes his head. "I know why I did it, or at least I think I do. We were just talking about something upsetting, and it seemed like the right thing to do. He's just such a great friend, you know?" Hermione only nods, and Harry takes another breath, remembering that her interaction with Draco hasn't been nearly as great as his, and therefore neither would her perception of him. "It's just, out of everyone I know Draco has to be the one most concerned about perception and reputation." He looks at her, "So, why would he say he did it and not me?"

Hermione shakes her head, "I don't know, Harry. All I know is that if Slytherins really do try to be as unemotional and stingy as they pretend to be, then he did you a favor. You should just count your blessings and be grateful for it." Harry looks back down at the table and grinds his teeth in one direction. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Harry lies, before he takes another breath. "It's just that's what my aunt always tells me, except she tells me to count my blessings and to be grateful that they took me in instead of sending me off to some orphanage."

Hermione's expression freezes with shock, "Why would she say that?"

"Well," Harry emphasizes. "I am an orphan. My parents did die. It's not like my aunt and uncle had to take me in."

"No," Hermione responds, "but it is expected. She shouldn't be saying that to you."

"No. It's fine. Really," Harry says. "She's right, just as you are. I should be grateful."

"But Harry," Hermione starts.

"What do you have here," Harry takes her notebook and opens it. "There's a lot here. Is there anything useful?"

Hermione swipes the notebook back, "Yes. In matter of fact, there is."

"Well. Don't keep me hanging," Harry blandly comments. "Tell me. What do we know about this stone?"

Hermione gives a look of concern, "Harry, I really think we should discuss this."

"And I really think we need to focus on the stone," he responds intensely.

"Alright," Hermione whispers. "We'll talk about the stone."

"Okay. Thank you." Harry takes another breath in attempt to relax, but as always, it doesn't seem to work. "So, what do we know?"

Hermione flips through a couple pages, "It has the ability to transform any metal into real gold. It also offers the user eternal life, but it didn't quite say how."

"So, what? Whoever steals it needs to complete some ritual or something?"

Hermione hums in contemplation, "I think a temporary spell or potion is more likely, or else everyone would probably be immortal by now."

"Fair point," Harry comments, leaning back in his chair.

"The only question is," Hermione speculates, "is who would want to steal it?"

"I still think it's Snape."

"Come on, Harry. What would Snape want with the stone?"

Harry chuckles, "Who wouldn't want the stone?" Hermione sighs. "What? It's a valid conclusion." She looks bored and unconvinced. "He tried to kill me, Hermione! Come on. When are you going stop believing every teacher is some angel and finally realize Snape is bad?" There's a shuffle, and Harry looks behind himself towards the bookcases.

"What was that?" asks Hermione.

Harry shakes his head, positioning a hand to it again, "I'm sorry. I was being too loud."

"What are you talking about, Harry?"

He shakes his head before looking around, "Sorry. It's not safe to talk here. Of course they'd gather in a library. What was I thinking? There's probably at least one of them here every hour of each day."

"Harry. What are you talking about?"

"The information bank," Harry whispers. "I found out over the holidays that there's a small group of Ravenclaws who can't satisfy themselves with only books. They like to gather information about people, like we're all characters in the best story they've never read. No doubt they'll want to find out more about the plot too."

"What?" asks Hermione, a bit confused.

"They've heard us talk about Flamel before, and now they probably know about Snape." Harry looks around anxiously, "I told them I wouldn't tell anyone about them."

"Hold on a minute," Hermione stretches a hand out. "Slow down. Who are they?"

Harry shakes his head, "I don't know, Hermione. One had black hair, one had brown hair, and the other had pink hair."

"Pink hair?" she asks, unsure if she heard him right.

"I couldn't tell if it was blond or red. Sorry." He looks at her, "I should have told you sooner, I know, but I didn't think— they like to gather information, not hand it out." He looks up to the right, "Although, they have quite a mouth on them if they think you already know something that they want to know more about." She gives him a confused look. "Come on. Just get up. We should leave. Start talking outside or in the Great Hall or something."

She begins to stand and gathers her things, "Alright."

Harry looks around again before asking, "Where's Ron? He should be here for this. I bet he'd tell you Snape is—"

"Shh," Hermione whispers. "You just said it wasn't safe to speak here!"

Harry lets out a stressed breath, "I know. Sorry."

Hermione holds her textbook, notebook, and pen in her arms, "If you must know, Ron is sick. He has some cold. The library is the last place he should be, spreading his germs around."

"Have you met Ron?" Harry gives a look. "He'd never pick up a book, not unless his life depended on it."

Hermione gives Harry an unimpressed look, but then she sees something move behind the shelves. Before Harry can speak, she grabs hold of his hand, "Come on. We need to get out of here." as she pulls him along and out of the library.

* * *

Harry and Hermione sit on a stone bench on a small hill overlooking the lake, but he looks away grudgingly as he sees the black haired Ravenclaw, "They're everywhere."

"Just ignore them," Hermione comments, keeping her books closed because of the falling snow. "It's not like she'll be able to hear us from that far away anyway, could she?"

"I suppose not," Harry mumbles before looking out at the frozen lake, the golden light of the midafternoon sun reflecting off of it. "It's not as cold as I thought it would be."

"Yeah," Hermione whispers. "And it's really pretty, isn't it?"

He nods before glancing around, and then he shakes his head, "No one knows. No one knows someone is about to steal what has to be the most powerful item ever created. They're just going on like it's just some other normal, boring day."

"And so shall we." He looks at her in mild surprise. "Harry, it's not like we can just forget about our education. We both know this is important, but we can't risk failing classes or getting expelled for some unthought through plan."

"I know," Harry complains. "I just wish it was all over, you know?"

"I know," she nods. "But we can't ignore something this important, and we're just kids. If we were to try and hand it to someone else, do you think they'd really listen to us?"

"No," Harry rolls his eyes. "We know, because we've already tried."

"Exactly. We can't go losing our heads now, not when it may matter most."

"But if Snape really is trying to steal the stone," Harry insists.

Hermione sighs, "Then we will find out, but what if he's not the one?" She sees Harry about to speak, but she doesn't let him. "So, what if Snape has a bad history? So, what if he's a Potions teacher good at the Dark Arts? It doesn't mean it's him. We need more proof, Harry."

"More proof than him trying to kill me?" Harry nearly yells. "If Ron was here, he'd be on my side. I know he would be."

"But he isn't here, is he?" Hermione seethes. "And since he isn't here we're going by practicality and not democracy. Try to learn more about Snape and I will assess others, but until we learn more information we can't do anything rash." Harry looks down to the ground, looking both a bit solemn and as if he doesn't care what she thinks. "Harry." He looks back up at her, and then she stresses, "Right now, just focus on quidditch practice. There's a game in a few weeks."

Harry lets out a long breath, "I almost forgot about that."

"And if you had forgotten, that would have been a big neon sign that your mind was somewhere else, like obsessing about whether Snape is stealing the stone or not."

"I know he is," Harry insists

"No. You don't," Hermione almost shouts, but then she looks forward and makes a gesture with her hands to calm down. "I know you're concerned that Snape might try something again during the game." She turns back to him, "So, I promise I'll search his office beforehand for anything suspicious."

Harry slightly smiles, "Thank you."

Hermione smiles too, "Just promise me you won't do anything rash."

Harry laughs with a nod, "Yeah. I promise."

* * *

\- Wow! Harry's deep dark secret is that he hugged Draco. He just had the hardest time getting that out, didn't he? Could you just imagine if he had been older and if it had been just a little more than a hug? If that were the case, and if this is any indication of how he would respond, then he may not have been able to say a word or confess to it at all. *shakes head* Harry, you've got to lighten up a little. Just joking, really, but that was a little dramatic for something so small. For the homophobes out there, if you've managed to get this far, then you have no need to worry. They're only 11 for crying out loud. Nothing's happening, or at least nothing the characters are aware of. They're just friends. Plain and simple. Although, I am a bit of a fan of the one-sided Drarry, just to confess. If anything does happen it'd probably be around year 3 or 5; it would really depend on where the characters go, so you'll just have to wait and see (and that's if I manage to get all of the way there. I hope I can.) Honestly, though, Harry dating Hermione at some point is inevitable. They just have too much in common... but don't you think that Hermione and Draco also have a lot in common? They both have a need to please their parents, they're both smart and brave and determined to succeed, and they are both very serious creatures. How would Harry ever be able to choose? Actually let's make this a **game** : given the options of dating, marrying, or friend-zoning/friend-carding with the characters Ginny, Draco, and Hermione, what would you want Harry to do with each person? Don't worry. The game won't impact this fic. It will just make the response section more fun to read (not that it isn't already). Seriously, though, if you have any opinion on this at all, then please play the game. The last audience interaction I requested only got like one to three responses. So, play the game. The next chapter deals with Draco, the first part in Snape's classroom and the second part in the library. Guess what happens when Nevil shows up? I'll give you a hint: it happened in the actual book as well. I know nothing is going to be perfect, but I am trying to line up the book and this fic in a reasonable manner. I hope you enjoy.


	66. You had to have It

"Ah. How lovely," Snape sarcastically comments as he stands at the front of the class. "Everyone seems so sleepy today." He picks up a large stack of books and lets them fall from high above, slamming loudly onto the demonstration table, and many students are startled awake. "That's better," Snape mutters, before he looks around the class for a silent moment. "Yes. Today we'll be brewing the awakening potion." The class moans in tiredness, knowing just how much time and effort this one takes. "But before we do," Snape yells over them, "I'd like to get in some announcements before the class turns into chaos." The class quiets. "Thank you," he says softly in his smooth voice. "First, let me congratulate everyone who brought their own cauldron. You will not be dying today. The rest of you…" He trails off into a displeased hum, "Well. Just be sure to grab a clean pot this time." The class looks around at each other, some horrified, some gloating, and others not impressed at all. "Second," he continues, "This semester's exam will be a written one, so I hope no one forgot anything from last semester. The test will be long and it will cover everything. You've been warned." He smirks as half of the class complains and the other half remain silent. "Thirdly." He turns and walks around the table towards Draco, "Mr. Malfoy. You stole something from my class last semester. I expect it on my desk by Monday morning. Am I clear?"

Draco nods, "Yes, Professor." trying not to stumble over his words.

"Good," Snape smiles, before he walks back to his desk. "Any other questions? No? Then get to work."

"Wait. Are you telling me," Ron interrupts, "that you're just letting Malfoy off like that? No detention. No expulsion. Just a warning, if you can even call what you said a warning?" Snape straightens his stance. "That's not fair!"

Snape glowers at him and sneers, "Don't speak of what you don't understand, Mr. Weasley. These things depend on circumstances."

"Yeah," Ron dramatizes. "It depends on if they're in your house or not."

Hermione places a silent hand to her forehead, as the professor strides closer to them. "Be rest assured, Weasley, that it depends a whole lot more on things other than house loyalty."

"Yeah, right," he doubts. "Had it been me, you would have thrown me out of school."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape shouts as he abruptly turns back to his desk.

"That's not fair," Ron insists, and Hermione has to keep him from standing by pushing down on his shoulders.

"Do you want me to make it thirty?" Snape threatens. All of the Gryffindors quieten, and so are the Slytherins as they merely watch the spectacle. "No? No one?" Snape questions, as he looks around the room. After a silent moment he responds, "Good. Now, get to work!"

Draco stays quiet as images of the item he stole flashes through his mind. _How could I have been so stupid? But you weren't. You needed it. You had to have it._ "Oh. Shut up," Draco whispers in irritation, but then he notices all three of his friends staring at him. "What? Don't you think this is ridiculous too?"

Harry comments calmly but a bit surprised, "I would have thought you'd be thrilled to have another house lose points, especially when we're already so behind." Draco grumbles, but Harry doesn't respond.

Goyle inquires, "Draco. What did you steal?" his voice filled with speculation and accusation.

Draco huffs, "What? Nothing." He's given a bored albeit concerned look. "Really. I didn't take anything. He must be talking about those bottles I used to fill that one potion with." The class shuffles around them, and Draco takes in an annoyed breath. "Come on. We need to gather the materials."

* * *

Draco smiles as he enters the library, walking over to a couple of Ravenclaws and leaning against the table, "Which one of you lovely girls would like a chocolate muffin?"

The girl of strawberry blond hair comments excitedly, "Oh. Me." and grabs it from him. When her brown haired friend gives her a look she swallows the bite she had taken. "What? We literally look for any information we can all day every day, and I'm absolutely starved."

Her friend crosses her arms, her intense blue eyes giving a look, "If you couldn't handle missing a single meal, then you shouldn't have taken my offer to study during lunch."

The blond girl frowns, "I'm sorry." before putting the muffin down and smiling. "I'm focused now. I promise."

Draco finds himself smiling too, "I'll just leave you to your work, then." but when he turns around his smile completely falls. In front of him is Longbottom, and he looks completely confused and yet knowledgeable. Draco takes a step forward, "What are you doing here?"

The dark blond boy stutters, "Nothing. I was looking for a book. This is a library."

Draco shakes his head slowly as he takes another step forward, "So. You didn't— I don't know— hear or see anything, or anything?"

"No. Nope," Longbottom comments as he stumbles back. "Nothing. I know nothing."

Draco smiles, "Hey. Maybe you can help me out then. We can learn something together."

Longbottom gives a confused look, before he stands, "Really? What with?"

"You see," Draco says as he pulls his wand from his robes and takes another step forward. "There's this thing I've been meaning to try." He points the wand at him, as Longbottom can do nothing but stand in horror. "Locomotor Mortis."

Longbottom looks down at his legs and attempt to move them, but the curse had worked its perfection. He looks up hopefully but is still clearly stressed, "Great. It worked. Can you undo it now? Please."

"Remind me," Draco darts his eyes around. "How do you do that again?"

"What? You mean you didn't look up the counter curse?" Longbottom panics.

Draco shrugs but can't help but smirk, "It looks like you're going to have to just hop around and find someone who does." He watches as Longbottom maneuvers to look behind Draco and at the Ravenclaws. "What are you doing?" Draco complains. When Longbottom whimpers he looks away in annoyance before glowering back, "And you call yourself a Gryffindor. You're not nearly brave enough." He looks at him intensely, his eyes beginning to water. "Well, what are you still doing here? Scram. Get out of here." After a pleading but unsuccessful look for help to the couple girls, Longbottom uses the checkout counter to turn around and then begins to hop out of the room. When he finally leaves Draco turns back around and smiles at the Ravenclaws. "Now." He leans his hands on the table again, "I was thinking we could make this a daily thing. I could come up from the Hall, give you some muffins and apples, and then you can study." He watches as the brown haired girl's mouth shifts in unsureness, "You would be getting more done, and it would only be for lunch and dinner."

The blond smiles at her friend, "You really should be eating more, Rachel."

Rachel sighs, "Yeah, I know. I work too hard. Apparently." She looks back at Draco and nods, "Yeah. Okay. That sounds good."

Draco smiles, "Great. So, dinner then?" When she nods he nods back, before he walks to the corner of the library and takes out the doubled assignments, special quill, and the History of Magic textbook. _This will be the easiest thing you've ever done._ He frowns, as this was true; it has been easy. _Perhaps a little too easy._ He shakes his thoughts away, straightens up, and begins to work, only taking the occasional break to glance out the cold, winter window.

* * *

\- Just to be clear, it was a tape measure that Draco stole. By the way, my favorite line in here has to be when Draco says, "Hey. Maybe you can help me out then. We can learn something together." Seriously, though, Nevil had it coming. You don't just walk in on someone's scheme and say, "I saw and heard nothing. I came to check out a book. This is a library." for crying out loud. Granted, he really had no idea what was going on, and Draco can seem rather intimidating from a distance, especially if he really is "bullying" people, whether if it's because of "moral" beliefs or from paranoia and attempting to either keep them quiet or get them to think about something else. Well, that's it for tonight. I hope you enjoyed. The next two chapters are small, just having to do mainly with Hermione's plan to search Snape's classroom and what she found, although you do get a small scene from Draco as well.


	67. The Plan

\- Thank you **diyararora** for commenting on the chapters regularly. It's nice. Although, I've got to say this last one was a little... I don't know. I just think I must have either been tired, stressed, or both the first time I read it, because the first time I read it, it sounded like you were thinking I was trying to portray Draco as an angle my justifying his behavior. The second time, however, I realized you actually said that even in my fic he's not much of an angle and that you were just suggesting that you think he should grow out of his more unpleasant behaviors. I've got to say that I'm also very grateful for your proper punctuation, because if I can read something wrong with as great of punctuation as yours, I definitely don't want to find out how bad I may interpret a response that has zero punctuation. Seriously. How does someone misread, "I feel like throughout the canon, and even in your own story, Draco isn't an angel." and think the person is saying that you're trying to portray the character as an angle? I must say first, that I do agree with you that he should grow out of this eventually, but just as with all people with all things, it may be a slow process. I should also say that even though Draco has his own justifications for doing things, as the writer I have no intention of just giving his behavior a "free pass". It's only because he's surrounded himself with friends with similar upbringings, or (in Harry's case) just someone who tries to understand, that he's managed to get as far as he has with little conflict as result from his behavior. I think later in this fic, though, that he will find a way to isolate himself from even those friends, and although he may not mean to do the action that results in that conflict, that finding himself mostly alone would be a good start to make him think about his behaviors. By the way, with how his father treats him I have a hard time understanding why he still so strongly (or semi-strongly, since he doesn't completely hate Granger for something as simple as blood status) believes in that certain ideology. I guess one could assume he's just been fed so much propaganda over the years and that coupling that with a need to please his parents, that maybe that's why he believes "blood-traitors" are bad people and that the muggleborn are dangerous/inferior; however, there has to be a time that he realizes that those conceptions aren't accurate. I must say, it probably won't happen much in this fic, but assuming I get to year two, I think he may start doing some more noble actions, although I can't say his prejudice would disappear completely by then. As far as your comment on letting off steam goes, I think that it would just be very easy to vent to a friend, but if Draco is met with someone he doesn't particularly like or just plain hates, then like anyone he's probably not going to vent. In that case he probably would be more likely to do some hex or say something mean, but I just think the person would have to be picked for a reason. Even in movies it's clear that the person getting bullied is mainly getting bullied either because they'd be less likely to get hurt or in trouble by doing mean things to that specific person or because they simply fear becoming that person and therefore tries to destroy that fear... I'm sorry. I guess that last part is more psychological than anything, but the same also applies to your comment on someone who just wants to feel powerful. It's those people who may be the most insecure about themselves, their current situation, or what they may/may not want out of life. Sometimes it's easier just to assert your power where everyone can see it, rather than to slowly walk into some unknown, dark abyss of the future.

* * *

"I've figured it out," Hermione comments as she sits at a mostly empty table of the Great Hall, none of the tables of which even hold the tablecloths of their houses at the moment.

"Figured what out?" asks Ron.

She looks at Harry, "The Ravenclaws you mentioned before are the very same ones I have that study group with."

"Wait," Harry shakes his head. "Are you telling me you've been hanging out with them all year, and you didn't notice that they were some freaky spies or whatever they are?"

Hermione gives a look, "It's not like I was actually hanging out with them. We were studying, and it's not like I was alone with them. Millicent always shows up."

"But still," Harry comments skeptically. "The information bank could have been collecting info on you all year and you didn't even know."

"What's an information bank?" Ron interrupts.

Hermione shakes her head, "Never mind that." She smiles as she looks between the two of them. "I got them to tell me something, something about Snape."

Harry slides closer to the table, "What was it?"

"Don't get too excited," she comments seriously. "It's not very good news. As it would turn out, Snape patrols the castle at night, primarily the dungeon and main floor."

"So?" says Ron in a very long tone.

"So," Hermione states. "He will probably be in the dungeon nearly every moment of every day and night, and Harry just so desperately wants me to search his classroom for anything suspicious." Harry shuffles in his seat as she glares at him but says nothing, his eyes downcast.

"I still don't get what the big deal is," Ron comments. "I mean, he has to sleep at some point. Just search his classroom then."

"But it's not that simple, is it?" Hermione explains with slight impatience. "If he patrols the castle at night, then he must sleep sometime during the day."

Harry runs his hand over the surface of the dark wood and mumbles, "And she can't get caught snooping around the class when there are plenty of students around to see."

"Precisely," responds Hermione. She lets out a stressed breath, "I only see one thing I can do." She pauses for them to look at her. "We know one thing for sure, and that is that Snape always shows up to the Hall for meals. I could search his classroom during lunch sometime." She watches as Harry shakes his head in annoyance. "What is it? You don't like it?"

Harry lets out a breath, "No. It's just that I don't know how you and Draco do it." He looks back up at her, "Neither of you seem to have a problem with skipping meals, so long as you think there's something more important to do."

"Harry." She gives a look, "It's only one meal."

"Yeah," Harry whispers. "That's how it starts."

"What?" asks Hermione, honestly confused.

"Nothing," Harry answers louder and with more confidence than he has. "I just really like having meals and actually eating them." When neither of them respond, Harry shakes his head again, letting out a breath, "So, then. When were you planning to do this search of yours?"

Hermione nods, "Yes. Well, I was thinking of doing it Monday."

"Monday?" Harry exclaims, and as he looks around and find many people staring at him he continues in a whisper. "The game is next Saturday. What if you can't find anything?"

Hermione slightly smiles, "Then you should have nothing to worry about." and she stands up to leave.

After she does Harry and Ron are left sitting at the table alone, and for a minute it's really quite. Ron clears his throat, "So, how's it like being a Slytherin?"

"It's alright." He rubs the back of his neck for a moment, "What about you? What's it like being a Gryffindor?"

"It's alright," Ron's eyes move down to the table.

Harry nods and hears whispers from the many other students in the Hall, before he can think up another thing to say. "Hermione said you like chess."

"Yeah." Ron looks up, but the conversation seems to be a bit uncomfortable for him.

"I was just wondering," Harry comments hesitantly, "if maybe you'd like to play a game sometime with me?"

Ron looks down at the table and then around the room, before he stands abruptly, "Sorry, man. I've got to go. Catch up with you later." Harry lets out a breath as he watches Ron exiting the Hall, knowing very well that he won't catch up with him later.

* * *

\- For those who may end up thinking there's a plot hole here, in the last couple chapters Hermione didn't actually see what the girls looked like. The only one she would have seen semi-clearly is the one Harry would have pointed out, and between the snow and the far distance the girl was said to be, we can just say that Hermione didn't see the girl clearly and that if she did see anything it may have just been the hair color and school uniform. Honestly, I really wasn't thinking about the Ravenclaws in the study group when I gave Hermione and Millicent the study group, but I must say it worked out pretty well, or at least I think it did. I just love it when everything comes together so easily like that. I know this chapter and the one following may be just a little boring, but I hope you like it for at least some reason nonetheless (I can never read words that have three or more grouped up together like that, so I don't know why I'm using that one so often, but I guess it doesn't matter if I'm writing it and not reading it. Sorry for those out there who also have problems with 3-word or 4-word compound words. I feel your pain, and I'm so sorry for doing this to you.) In the next chapter Draco realizes he's made a mistake when the two girls he's been giving his food to turn out to be friends with someone he never thought they would, and following that Hermione shows Harry and Ron the object she found/stole from Snape's classroom.


	68. Suspicion

Draco smiles as he walks to the library with two muffins and two apples balanced on top of his textbooks and materials, but when he walks in his smile drops. Slowly, he makes his way to the table the three girls sit at. The blond smiles, "So, what have you got us today?"

"Um." Draco puts the food down on their table, "Two red apples, a banana nut muffin, and a chocolate chip muffin."

"Thank you," she comments, before she takes two items for herself and puts the other two in front of Rachel.

Draco can't help but stare at the black haired girl, "Ms. MacDougal. I wasn't expecting you to be here."

She smiles, "Please, Draco, drop the formalities. It's not like I'm going to be MacDougal forever after all. Just call me Isobel."

"Right. Isobel." He looks around at the three of them, "I didn't realize you knew them."

Her eyebrows rise, "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. No." _Why would I have a problem with a member of the pureblood community and a daughter of my family's healer being here right now when I'm giving my meal away?_ He wets his lips, "But shouldn't you be down at the Hall for lunch?"

She laughs, "Shouldn't you?"

Draco falters for a moment, neglecting to make eye contact, "I ate on my way up here."

Isobel smiles, "Yes. Well, I prefer to go down during the second half of the hour. I find it tends to be a little less crowded that way." Draco merely nods, and the black haired girl leans in over the round table. "You know, this was very nice of you, bringing food up for my friends. Do you do it often?"

Draco tries to smile, but he finds it hard to do, "I come up here to study every day. I figured it was the least that I could do."

Isobel leans back in her chair and grins as she looks over him, her thumb's nail up against her bottom lip before she comments, "So. You study all the time, then?"

Draco stares down at her. _Does she know? I thought those healer visits were supposed to be confidential._ "I told you. I eat on my way here, and I'm always in the Hall for breakfast. I do eat. It's not like I always do assignments during meals."

Her blue eyes shimmer with newfound information, "I never said you did."

Draco looks away for a moment and runs a hand over his hair. When he looks back at her he shakes his head, "Sorry. I hate to end this very pleasant conversation so abruptly, but I did come here for a reason." With that he walks back into the corner of the library, straightening out his materials to study; however, he can't stop thinking over that last conversation, whether he'd just been paranoid or not and all of the stupid mistakes he may have just made.

* * *

"So. Did you find anything?" Harry asks.

"You could say that," Hermione smirks as she takes a potion flask from her robe's pocket and sets it down onto the table.

"What is it?" asks Ron in fascination, now picking it up and attempting to shake it. "It's not very liquidy is it?"

"It's a semisolid," answers Hermione. She shows her teeth in uneasiness, "Um, Ron. Maybe you shouldn't be doing that. Could you set it down for me, please?" To his annoyance he complies, and soon after Hermione continues. "Thank you," she smiles for a moment. "Now." She looks at Harry, "I found a few of these stashed around his classroom. I'm guessing it's for easy access or in case a student tries to steal something from him out of spite." Ron smiles. "It was basically the only thing in his class that was unlabeled."

"Yeah," Harry nods. "I remember how in detention we had to clean, and you're right. Everything— and I do mean everything— was labeled."

"Which is why I'm thinking," responds Hermione, "that if he'd have anything to hide it would be these. If he did have some evil plan, then it would involve these."

"So. What do we do now?" asks Harry.

Hermione gives a questioning look, "I'll have to find a way to analyze it and figure out what it is. I'll make sure to do that this week, before he referees your game."

"Hermione. Seriously," Harry smiles. "You're a life saver."

She grins, "Thank you, Harry." and they all continue to sit there for a while, just talking as Hermione reminds them once again how important it is to do well in class regardless if there's a dangerous threat or not.

* * *

\- Does anyone have any guesses about what the flasks hold? I know tonight I only gave two short chapters, but I promise the next two are longer and a lot more intense. First, Hermione and Snape have a talk, and then Draco meets the cold, cruel world he hadn't realized he was living in. I hope you enjoy, but at the moment you will have to wait. It seems like most of the readers, though, don't read nightly, so maybe waiting won't be an issue for some. I hope you have a good day/night. I'll see you... Wow. It's four in the morning. I'd definitely say the night is over if the "sunrise" is already starting to impact the color of the sky, as it tends to at this time... Hopefully I'll see you tonight, then. Until then, I hope you've enjoyed.


	69. Dhampir

"So," Ron prods as Hermione sits in the stands next to him. "Did you figure out what it is, yet?"

"Yes," Hermione answers plainly.

"It's about time. What is it? Some kind of body stiffening thing? Something that causes your skin to melt off? Oh. I know. It's something to make brooms slippery, right?"

"It's harmless, Ron."

Ron looks at her in disbelief and shakes his head, "No. It can't be. You see, Harry and I agree very little on things, but we were both so sure that Snape was the one behind all of this."

Hermione stays quiet and stares out at the field, but when the players enter their starting positions the announcer comments unsurely, "Um. It looks like there's been some unforeseen circumstances. I've just been informed that Professor Snape will be unable to referee this afternoon."

Hermione gazes into the bright, sunny sky and releases a breath into the cold air as she shakes her head. "Oh. No," comments Ron.

Hermione looks at him, "What?"

"You have that look," he points out. "The one you get when you feel like you've messed up or done somethin' wrong." She looks away and stays quiet. "What? Do you think Snape's up to something right now, and that's why he hasn't came?"

"No," Hermione responds as she stares down at the white blanketed field. "He's probably just held up." With another shake of the head she stands, "Sorry, but I've got to go. Wish Harry and your brothers luck for me, won't you?"

As she leaves Ron yells, "A bit late for that, don't you think? The game's already started."

* * *

Hermione stands against the wall near the open door of the Potions' room and looks up towards the ceiling of the dungeon. _How could I have been so stupid?_ What she thought to be some dangerous substance had turned out to be nothing more than a very powerful, but completely harmless sunscreen. She feels her heart race at the mere prospect of confronting the professor, unable to think of anything to say other than the blatant truth; that she'd stolen from him, and because of that now she knows what he is. _But maybe I'm overanalyzing everything. He's a potion's teacher. He could have just made the sunscreen for a friend, and maybe it wasn't terrible sensitivity to the sun that kept him in. Maybe it was something else._ Hermione winces as she accidently bangs her head against the stone wall, realizing that her conclusions are optimistic to say the least. _That day in class he'd been so reluctant to use his own hair for the experiment, and when he finally had it'd been pure red. He said it was from a diet high in lean meat and red wine, but what if the wine was never really wine? What if that's just been what he's told people?_

"Ms. Granger," Snape interrupts as he steps out of the door, and Hermione takes a step back. The professor looks at her in suspicion, "May I help you with something?"

"Ah-uh, no," Hermione stutters. "But thanks."

"Are you sure?" responds Snape in his silky voice. "You have been out here for a while."

Hermione takes a shaky breath as she feels her eyes become warm, "Please. Don't be mad at me, but—" _I stole something from you._ She's unable to get the last words out, but apparently it hadn't made a difference.

Snape stretches out his hand and grits his teeth, "Hand it to me."

"Hand what to you?" Hermione questions in near shock.

"What you stole from me," Snape sneers. "Give it here." One by one Hermione shakily takes out the three potion flasks from her pockets and places them into his hand. After looking at them for a brief moment, the professor darts his cold, dark eyes at her, or at least they would have been cold if not for the fury now residing within them. "Explain yourself."

"We thought you may have been planning something dark," Hermione lets out fast. "We thought you were planning on stealing something powerful, and if there would have been anything suspicious it would have been the only things you leave unlabeled. It would have been those." She nods down to the unlabeled flasks. "It was wrong. I know, and I'm sorry, but I wasn't going to stand by if there was chance anyone was going to get hurt."

Snape gives a curious look, "Who did you think I was going to hurt?"

Hermione looks down for a moment, "Harry. Last semester you hexed his broom." before looking back up. "You kept eye contact as you were muttering. I know it was you."

Snape lets out a laughing breath through his nose, "For a smart girl, you don't look at the big picture of things very well, do you?"

"What do you mean?" She'd been ready for any punishment he'd see fit to give her, even if that meant possible death, but she hadn't expected this, this seemingly understanding and lack of callousness of his.

Snape partly smiles, "Why would I, the head of Slytherin house, try to harm my own Seeker, especially in the middle of a game?"

Hermione frowns, "I hadn't really thought about that."

The professor looks down at her, "Even if Potter's father was the bane of my existence during my stay here, I would never harm a student."

"But why, then, were you muttering and keeping eye contact," Hermione questions.

"I was doing the counter curse," Snape explains. "I was trying to save him."

"But then you must know who was doing the curse, if you knew which counter curse to use."

"I may or I may not. It's really none of your concern," Snape responds. "Just as the stone is none of your concern either."

"You know about the stone?"

"Yes. I do," Snape softly drawls out. "I'm a Hogwarts professor. I'm one of the teacher's protecting the stone."

"You mean to say," Hermione inquires, "that there's more than just that dog guarding it?"

"Of course there is," Snape raises his voice. "Like you said, an item so powerful—" He hums for a moment, "But like I said, it's none of your concern." He nods his head up, "Go on now and scram, before I change my mind."

"You're not going to punish me?" Hermione asks in surprise.

"No," Snape looks down at her again.

"But I stole from you," Hermione notes. "I know when Draco did you also didn't do anything, but I would have thought—"

"That it was because of house loyalty?" Snape finishes. "No. Like I told Weasley, it depends solely on circumstances, and in this case I just trust that a devout student like you won't use my secret against me. I know a lot of students here think I'm cruel, but I need to be certain they take my class seriously, as potion making can be a very dangerous art."

"I know," Hermione acknowledges.

The professor looks down at her quite seriously, "If word were to get out about me, I may no longer be able to teach here." His cold, distrusting eyes seem to plead, "Do you understand?"

Hermione slowly nods, "Yeah. I think I do."

* * *

\- Yes. I realize that in cannon Snape isn't even part vampire, but I thought it would make things a little more interesting. Also, with his black eyes, pale skin, and tall stature, even by Harry Potter standards he looks a lot like a vampire (a creature described in the Harry Potter Wiki as to having black eyes, pale skin, and a tall stature). Now, I'm not sure, but I think Snape actually had a muggle father and may have been raised in the muggle world, and Lily was his neighbor? I don't remember, but in this fic it's possible that maybe the vampirism was a recessive trait (or something even more complicated) from the other side of his family. Since he's only part vampire maybe that also means that if he did grow up in the muggle world, that he didn't have so much sun sensitivity in his younger days but instead had it steadily grow over the years along with his seemingly heightened senses and his newfound craving/need for sustenance... I did warn you back in "The Night Life" chapter that I may not follow the cannon completely. Although, since Snape becomes kind of an important guiding figure for one of the characters, since there's more talking on Snape's part towards the end of the fic (assuming the characters go where I think they're heading) then I really should reread his biography again. By the way, to get this out of the way, I know it would have been really easy for Snape to just obliviate the student, but considering that he needs them to stop snooping around and thinking he's trying to kill a student, it would probably be more wise for him to trust that a student (who probably cares more about education and safety rather than "fairness") would keep his secret and prevent others from finding out (because even if he seems "cruel" sometimes, Hermione did acknowledge that she knows it's for the students to learn and stay safe)... I guess if things don't go the way he plans, then he could always just feed the forgetfulness potion or something else that's more pin-pointy to his students... Like, let's say... some cookies or gum? Nah. That'd be way to suspicious. He'd never be able to pull that off, but never mind. To **diyararora** , your guess of what the flasks may have been would have been a really good plot, and I do wish I had thought of it myself, but even if I had, sadly the professors probably already have all of their "tests" set up and so it may not have made a lot of sense... I mean, unless he was planning on going down to check the safety of the stone himself, and therefore would have had to replace those flasks... I guess she did find three flasks, so nonetheless (I really have to stop using that word) it was a very good guess. In the next chapter Draco gets hit with a lot of things almost at once, and even though some of you may dislike Draco, just because it's from his point of view I do hope it does pull on some heartstrings... Lately, every time I write the word heart, I so much want to write/speak it the German way, because herz hurt. The speech is just so fitting, but I guess depending on demographics the dialect may not have the same sound as I was taught in my German class; therefore, the words may not sound as close and fitting as I think they do. Personally, for me at least, this next chapter hurts some strings. Enjoy!


	70. Welcome Cold, Cruel World

\- **Warning** : chapter contains abuse... If you feel compelled to read but feel as though you shouldn't, then I guess the second half **might** be okay.

* * *

Draco often finds that after games he has little energy left to keep up with his either excited or angry teammates, and today is no different. He slowly walks across the field towards the green and silver striped tent, and by the time he gets there a third of his teammates are already gone. He begins to take the winter uniform off with the bulky, leather gloves and arm plates, followed by the two cotton and wool gloves underneath. He sighs as he finds his vision flickering and decides to sit on the wooden bench, before he takes off his kneepads and boots. He has to stand back up to take off the long, hooded cloak, and then he continues by removing the green, fleece sweater and grey khakis. This leaves him with just his tank top, boxers, and socks.

He sighs again and grips his fingers into the holes of his open locker, as he tries to steady himself. Of course, breakfast had never really been much of a thing on weekends. It was always just such a great excuse to say he wanted to sleep in, which sometimes he really needed to, while other times all he could do was pretend. During those times he'd just read. It was a good time to read. "Hey. Malfoy. You alright over there?"

Draco glances at his captain and responds loudly, "Completely outstanding." but then he notices his top had ridden up and hurries to pull it back down. He looks over at Flint again and can't tell if the expression he sees is one of concern, disbelief, or something else entirely, before the captain finally turns away from him. Draco rushes to put on his weekend outfit, today consisting of black slacks, a green button up, and a grey zip up. He glances around again as he laces up his leather shoes, and he sees the captain look at him again. _I have to get out of here._

After he leaves the tent he strides back across the field, but half way to the exit he sees his father standing and waiting for him. Draco finds himself gulp as he stands still, but with another breath he continues on and walks over to him. He looks up, "Father."

"Draco," his father responds slowly, as he seems to look over him, scrutinizing his appearance. "Your team won."

"Yeah."

"No thanks to you," his father finishes. "What were you doing out there?"

"It was bright," Draco looks down at the snow for a moment. "I couldn't see well."

"Well. That didn't stop any of the other players, did it?"

"No," Draco admits, continuing to look down.

"No. Exactly," his father sneers. "And look at you. Have you gotten even skinnier?"

"I don't know," Draco looks back up. "I have nothing to measure myself with anymore, do I?"

Draco watches with sudden fright, as his father kneels down and grabs hold of his arms. "Don't you dare get smart with me." The grip is so harsh that Draco begins to feel tears forming in his eyes. "You don't need a measuring tape to keep track of your appearance. If I can notice it then so can you, and so will others."

"Stop. Please," Draco stammers. "You're hurting me."

In response his father tightens his grip, and Draco winces at the worsening pain, tears escaping his eyes as result. "Remember this the next time you don't want to eat. If you had any muscle or bone strength at all, this wouldn't hurt nearly as much." A moment later he pushes Draco back as he stands, Draco's arms having caught himself as he'd fallen backwards. He grits his teeth as he glares at him, "You're weak. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Don't worry," Draco lets out. "I already am." His father seems to ignore this as he walks past, no doubt about to find a way out of the grounds to apparate home. Draco turns his head back around and stands, before he dusts the snow off from his clothes and wipes the leftover tears from his face. It'd been horrible, and it's all he can think about as he walks. He's spent this whole time hoping there was just some misunderstanding: that his father had never meant to truly hurt him, only to just shake him up a little or make him obey. _But no. He's been doing it on purpose and probably for this entire time._ Nearing the exit Draco spats, "What are you looking at, Weasley?" seeing him linger behind and staring at him.

"Nothing," Ron answers. "Just a little boy with daddy issues. What's wrong? Did he have better things to do than stay and spend time with you?"

Draco narrows his eyes, "A filthy, little blood-traitor like you would know all about abandonment, wouldn't you? That's why you're so poor. You thought you were just so much better than the rest of us that you decided to abandon us when we needed you most, and after that your family's had no one left to support them, have they?" Ron becomes quiet, his face reddening. "You think before you speak, or else you'll get what's coming to you." Draco begins to walk away, but then another voice is heard.

Longbottom shouts, "Get him, Ron." and not a moment later does Draco look back around and see the weasel charging at him. He's plummeted to the ground and feels all the air get knocked out of his body, as he finds himself in complete shock and struggling to breathe, before he's then hit with a fist. The bright light reflecting off of the snow becomes even brighter, even whiter, and it's during this moment Draco realizes he may pass out; however, then he hears a shuffle of sounds, and when his vision clears a little he sees Goyle kneeling above him.

"Draco. Draco. Are you okay?" He turns his head to the side and sees the weasel had disappeared. He looks to his other side as well, but no one's there. "Vincent. Get help."

Draco opens his mouth in an attempt to shout no, that he's fine and that he doesn't need any help, but he finds himself unable to speak. He brings a hand to his throat and tries again, but still there's nothing. "I'll get someone," Crabbe responds, and after he does so Draco lets his head fall back into the fluffy snow, suddenly feeling that would be a very good place to sleep.

"Draco." He hears Goyle's voice. "Can you sit up?" Slowly, he uses his arms to prompt himself up, before he looks around and slides himself back up against the stands. His friend's voice is filled with concern, although just a little less than it had a moment ago, "Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

"I," Draco begins, expecting to just mouth it and hear nothing, but to his surprise a raspy tone escapes him. "I'm tired. I'm just so tired."

"Well. You can't fall asleep out here."

Draco places a hand to his forehead for a moment, finding his head to be burning warm at the touch of his freezing fingers, and he watches as he moves his fingers. The response is slow and his hands are a little numb. It's nothing he hasn't both experienced and ignored before, but on top of everything else it made things a lot harder. He notices Goyle watch his fingers' slow movement, "I forgot my gloves in the tent."

"Would you like me to get them?" Draco almost says no, but then he remembers he may need them for the dungeons as well. He nods. "Okay. Which locker's yours?"

"It's in the back, farthest to the left." With that Draco watches as his friend runs and fades into the afternoon light, and then his eyes move closer to the snow prints that had been made during the conflict with his father. _Why? What did I do?_ He waits for the monster to respond, as it typically would, but instead he hears nothing. It doesn't matter, though. He knows what he did wrong. _I lost weight again. This is simply my punishment for it._ He turns his head to look out in front of him, his head leaning against the stand as he stares into the air. He finds his thoughts becoming slower and nearly nonexistent, but he still remembers.

When he was five his father had brought him to the apothecary, as neither his father nor mother would have been home during that Saturday. He had found the shop quite interesting with a thousand years matured wine, potions of every color lining the shelves, and some charmed items or relics hanging from metal displays. There was this one shiny pendant he remembers reaching for, but his father grabbed his hand tightly to keep him from handling it. "Don't touch anything or you will lose a finger." He remembers his father's stern tone turning pleasant, as he smiled at a customer coming in through the door. "Good morning, sir. May I help you find anything?"

"Yes, actually. I was wondering if you had anything for anxiety. I've got a dinner meeting with my boss and some investors, and I'm a bit nervous."

"Why're you nervous?" Draco pipes up. "Isn't that something you've done before?"

His father looks down at him angrily, "Please excuse my son. He's just so young. He doesn't understand what pressures adulthood can bring. Yet." He smiles back at the customer, "But I've got exactly what you need." He walks past Draco to the shelves on the other wall of the store. "You're not allergic to anything, are you?"

"Not to my knowledge," the man responds.

"Good. Very good." His father holds up a light purple vial, "Take up to five drops every three hours. You may also take seven drops directly before going to sleep."

The man nods, "Thank you."

"Shall I ring you up?" The next thing Draco knows the customer has gone and his father is kneeling in front of him, his teeth gritted and his walking stick clutched tightly. "When was the last time I told you that if you don't think before you speak, then you will get what's coming to you?"

"Um. Yesterday?" Draco questions.

"Ah. Yesterday," his father exacerbates before taking something from his pocket. "Here. Take it."

Draco slightly shakes at the sight of the chapstick, "Ah. No thanks. I'm good."

"I said take it," his father growls. Draco can only manage to shake his head, keeping his lips tightly closed, but after he does his father forces his mouth open to apply the substance and then forces it closed again for a long few seconds. "There." He lets go of the hard grasp he had on him, "May that teach you to be quiet." Draco tries to open his mouth to respond, but he's unable to. He knew it would be useless but even after trying to lick the inside of his lips he was still unable to speak, and he would stay this way for another three hours, unable to speak, eat, or drink anything. He's just lucky he can breathe through his nose. He's known a few people who've had a hard time with that, but then again, they've never gotten their mouths glued shut before like he has.

* * *

Greg strides to the back of the tent and opens the locker on its farthest end, but it's empty. He tries the one next to it, but there are no gloves in there and just by glancing at the uniform he can tell it would be way too big for Draco to wear. He looks around in confusion, but then a sudden realization hits him. _This isn't left. This is._ When he reaches the other end of the lockers he opens one and almost laughs, as the organization of it is almost as clean as Draco's room is; however, remembering how Draco is doing he barely even smiles. Instead, he instantly finds the gloves and grabs them, before he runs back to where Draco is. Greg's nearly breathless, his body more conditioned for strength than speed, so he slows down as he grows closer to his friend. "Sorry it took so long. I got a little mixed up. I—" His mouth gapes a little, "Draco?" When there's no response he runs up to him and kneels down, shaking his friend's shoulder furiously as he yells, "Draco. Draco. Wake up." Draco's eyes slowly flutter open. "Thank gods," Greg places a hand to his forehead. "You scared me half to death." He tries to relax, taking multiple breaths to do so. "You can't fall asleep. If you do, your body temperature will drop."

"Where did Father go?"

"Your father?" Greg questions before looking around the empty field. "Was he here?"

"Yeah. He—" Draco had begun to point towards where they had spoken, but then he remembers what had transpired earlier and drops his hand into the snow. "He, ah, left. He left."

Greg looks at Draco's hand, "Okay. Just don't do that." before he looks back up at his frowning and seemingly dazed friend. "Put these on." Draco complies, but his eyes appear glossed over as he gazes into the distance. Greg looks over his shoulder to see what Draco had been staring at, but there's nothing there. Apparently he wasn't looking at something; he was looking away from something, away from him. Even now, he's unable to meet his eyes. "Draco. What's wrong?"

Draco still can't look at him, "What did Father tell you to do?"

"What?"

"What does he pay you for?" Draco mumbles.

It takes a moment for Goyle to respond, "Just to keep an eye on you, make sure you're okay, and to inform him of anything important. I'm supposed to help keep you safe." He shakes his head with a sad breath, "I'm supposed to keep you out of harm's way."

Draco licks his lips, "Has he said— do you know…"

"Do I know what?"

"What he's done," Draco looks at him. "Have you seen—" _You can't tell him. If you do and if he doesn't know, then he will confront him and then you both will get into trouble. And if he does know, do you really want to find out one of your closest friends has betrayed you like that?_ Draco closes his eyes tightly, trying to prevent tears as he looks down.

"Draco? What's wrong?"

At the sound of Crabbe's voice he opens his eyes, wipes the tears away with a sleeve, and answers shakily, "I just never thought something could hurt so much."

Madam Pomfrey kneels down; placing a hand to his chin to examine his face, but even just this motion reminds Draco of his father so much that he looks away. "It's not that bad. It will go away, but unfortunately there's little I can do. If we decrease the swelling of the eye, then the healing process may take longer. There are other spells, but generally when it comes to the eyes or other sensitive areas I'm reluctant to cast any. It usually does more harm than good."

"Are you saying he has to walk around with a black eye for the entire day?" Crabbe asks.

The matron laughs, "It's going it take longer than that, but don't worry. It should heal up in about three or four days, but I must warn it does get worse before it gets better." Draco looks down again, knowing with him it may take a week with how he heals. "Are you experiencing any vision problems or headaches?"

"Headache. Definitely," Draco softly responds. "I think it might be a little blurry too."

She nods before looking at his friends, "Was he conscious when you found him?"

"He was on the ground," Goyle begins unsurely.

"His eyes were open," Crabbe recalls.

"I couldn't speak," Draco answers for them, neglecting to mention his near fainting even as he had been sitting on the ground. "I was out of breath."

"You were probably winded," comments Pomfrey. "Do you remember who the headmaster is?"

"Dumbledore," Draco scrunches up his eyebrows. "What does that have to do with this?"

"We're checking for a concussion," she answers quickly. "What's your name?"

"Draco," he sneers with impatience.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two," Draco swats the hand away from his face.

"And what is five plus five?"

"Ten," Draco nearly yells, and he feels himself almost cough as he does so. "This is ridiculous."

The matron lets out a long breath, "I'm guessing this is your usual response to things, which is good. Can you tell me who did this to you?"

"Did what?"

"This," she gestures to him and his eye. "Who did this?"

"Oh." Draco feels his face become unpleasantly warm, but he's unsure if it's from embarrassment or frostbite. "It was no one."

"Ron Weasley."

Draco looks at his friend in annoyance as Madam Pomfrey smiles at him, "Thank you, Mr. Goyle."

"Yeah. Great," Draco comments sarcastically. "Can we leave now? It's freezing out here."

"Can you walk?" Goyle counters.

"Um. I think so," Draco says unsurely, his legs feeling a little numb, and as he looks around for something to help pull him up he's reminded how hard it typically is to just stand in general. He lets out a defeated breath, as he stretches out an arm, "Help me?"

Goyle smiles as he helps him to his feet, and then Madam Pomfrey softly comments, "Come on, now." She places a hand on the back of his shoulder, but Draco shakes it off, the last thing he needs being hospitalized for a week because of clear malnourishment. She purses her lips, not seeming used to her caring nature to be rejected, "Let's just get you inside, get you some hot chocolate—"

"No," Draco interrupts loudly, and even he's surprised by his instant fear and is shocked into silence before looking between his friends.

Goyle puts a hand on Draco's shoulder, making him take a few steps back, before he takes a step forward and suggests, "He's really tired. Maybe the drink should be skipped. Now that you've looked over him, we'd be happy to take him back to the dungeon."

"Isn't it cold down there?" she speculates.

"The blankets make more than enough up for it," Goyle insists.

She nods, "Okay." but then looks back at Draco. "If it's not better within a few days or if you think it's become infected, then come see me," she stresses.

When Draco doesn't answer Goyle responds for him, "Don't worry. He will." He looks at Draco, "And if he doesn't, we will do it for him."

* * *

\- The next chapter really should directly follow this one, but sadly I haven't quite finished it... I don't know why. I'm sorry. I hope you've enjoyed. I'll try to get the next two chapters out as soon as a can. On a side note that's kind of funny, in late middle school I slipped down the stairs and got winded. My back was like a plank of board, leaning up against the stairs. A guy asked me if I was okay, and I tried to say yes; however, I had lost my ability to speak. I couldn't say a word, and to attempt to communicate and say I was okay I had to do sign language. It was just letters, so I hope he understood. After doing the signs for literally just "O" and "K" (which is not how you spell okay, by the way), he then asked if I could stand up. Apparently, between the lack of oxygen and need to insist that I was okay, I had completely forgotten that I was still lying down on the stairs. It may be funny now, but it was a real experience... Since I would rarely talk, I don't even remember when I spoke again after that... Ah, well. That's it. I really hope you've enjoyed.


	71. True Strength

\- Like I was saying, the last chapter directly impacts this one, so it was important for me to get this posted as soon as I could. I only reread it twice, so I apologize if there's more mistakes than usual. I'll be working on a full set of chapters this week. As a warning, however, this chapter does contain aspects of abuse and eating disorders. It's not as bad as a lot of the other chapters, so I'm not posting a specific trigger warning and for small things like this I probably won't in later chapters either. I just thought I should give a heads up this time, though. I hope you enjoy. Also, as an update/note from the responses, a **guest** commented on chapter 55 saying, "Harry is bein a jerk. Since when is Ron not trustworthy." Since when is Ron not trustworthy, you ask? Well, that would be since the readers have known more about Ron than Harry does, and since Ron has been seemingly nothing but distant/discontent/disappointed with Harry. During that time all Harry may think is that Ron may just go tell/complain to everyone about Harry having a cloak like that either out of anger or spite, not that Ron would ever do that... actually, since they're not friends maybe he would? It's a good thing I'm not going there. Instead, Harry just hasn't told him yet. Also, **diyararora** , I'm glad you're able to see the multiple layers to Lucius and just the characters in general. If there's something I don't like, it's a character having only one purpose (to move plot forward, to add humor, to motivate "main" character) , one title (antagonist, side-kick, "main" character), and no apparent good reason for doing anything (especially if they're the "villain"). I say, the more relatable the better, and nothing is going to be relatable if characters have no motivation to be doing the things they're doing. Why did (insert character) rob a bank? Was it because the underdog cop had to have a conflict to resolve and therefore become more respected by the other cops, or did the robber find himself struggling to support his cancer ridden wife and their three children, or was it both? I'll just say now, it's always both, but sadly most movies and shows don't like to give you more than one side or character(s) to root for. By the way, if you want to watch a show that has multiple sides, then Gotham, The Originals, and 12 Monkeys are good shows to watch. A good "antagonist/villain" show would be Bates Motel. Let me be clear that obviously this isn't sponsorship. I'm only recommending these shows, because I now how hard it can be to find a show that portrays clear motivations for nearly, if not every, character, and where the "main" character may not necessarily be the most important or main character, if that makes sense. Anyway, read and enjoy. I hope you like it.

* * *

"Draco?" Draco stirs in his sleep, and he wraps his arm around the wooden record player tighter. "Draco?" He sees the light become brighter from behind his eyelids, and when he cracks them open he sees his bed curtain opened to his waist with his friend in view.

"Harry?"

He frowns in contemplation, "Sorry for waking you. What's playing?"

Draco looks down at the swirling record, "I'm not sure. This isn't where I started. I think it might be Chopin's _Nocturne E Flat Major_." He sees Harry's confusion, "You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?"

"Sorry," Harry mutters. "I've never really understood the purpose of music without lyrics. I just don't get what people get out of it."

"It's about feeling and expression. Some things are more powerful than words." Draco sits up, "What's that?"

Harry looks at the plate in his hand, before he sits down on the other bed, "Right." He takes a moment to the find the right words, "I'm supposed to give this to you, and Greg wanted me to pass on a message as well."

Draco looks down at the plate full of orange wedges, "What is it?"

"He wanted me to tell you that he's not saying you're not better, but that even if you aren't that he'd like you to try your best to be better while you're healing from your injury." Draco slightly nods, biting the inside of his lip. "Draco. Do you know what he's talking about?"

"It's nothing," Draco comments. "Weasley just decided to hit me in the eye. Goyle wants to make sure it heals properly."

"That's not what I was trying to ask." Harry pauses as Draco looks at him, and he shakes his head as he shuts his eyes, "I just keep hearing all of these things, and none of it really makes any sense." He opens his eyes back up, "Draco. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Honestly?" Draco begins with hesitance. "Yes."

"What is it?"

Draco's quiet for a moment, as he can only think of the response he may receive. His friend doesn't deserve to know. _If he knew, it would no longer be us trying to stay strong together. He may feel like he has to be strong enough for us both, and I couldn't do that to him. He has enough to deal with the way it is._ "Some things are better left unspoken, Harry."

"But your other friends know, don't they?"

"Yes," Draco confesses. "But you know some things that they don't even know." He looks down at the ground and rubs his forearms where the bruises would no doubt be now, "Or at least, I don't think they do. I hope they don't."

Harry sets down the plate, "Draco. Has something happened?"

He feels the tears already planning their escape, and he places a hand to his face to catch each one. "I— I really wanted to believe. This entire time— but I was wrong." He feels even more tears fall, as he looks at Harry, "There was never some misunderstanding. He's been doing it on purpose this whole time."

Harry tries to keep an even expression as he softly asks, "Can I see?"

With a long, shaky breath, he pulls his sleeves up to his elbows, and he hears Harry slightly gasp. When Draco looks down he sees the bruises are even more prominent than what he had expected them to be, the purple and blue colors even worse than the red and purple of his eye, "I asked him to stop, but he didn't. He just gripped harder."

"I'm so sorry."

Draco huffs, "It's not your fault. If I'd kept my mouth shut and didn't talk back the way I did, then this would have never happened. You'd think by now I would have learned."

Harry gives a serious look, "Nothing excuses this kind of behavior, Draco. He physically hurt you, and what? Just because you talked back? He couldn't have cut your allowance or ground you? He had to hurt you like that?" He doesn't speak, and Harry feels himself fill with rage. The Dursleys may have been mean, but Draco's father was a whole different kind of mean. Harry may have been getting by with zero allowance, clothes that never fit, and the expectation to doing almost everything like some kind of slave, but aside from near starvation at least it was seldom that he would get physically hurt. The only time it would happen is if his uncle lost his temper, but it seemed like Draco's father hurt him almost every, if not every, time they'd meet. "You're his son. He shouldn't be treating you like this."

"Am I his son," Draco questions, "if I'm not the perfect son he clearly wanted?"

"Draco," Harry moves forward. "No one's perfect."

"I know," he softly responds. "But if I were to impress him, then I'd have to get pretty damn near close." He shakes his head, as he feels his forehead burn and the salty tears line his face, "And I just try so hard. I always just try, but it's never good enough. It doesn't matter how well I'm doing, because in his eyes I'm always doing something wrong." He looks down, "I do everything wrong. I— I'm just wrong."

"No," Harry asserts.

"What?" Draco questions softly.

Harry lets out a breath, before he goes over and opens the bed curtain more so that he can sit next to Draco. He looks at him with certainty, "You're not the personification of wrongness." Draco looks down, and Harry feels a need reach for his face to move his head back towards him; however, with the encounter Draco had with his father earlier Harry advises himself against this. "You're an amazing person Draco, and even if there are some things I wish you wouldn't do, there are just so many things you're doing right."

"Like what?" Draco sniffs, as he looks back up for reassurance.

Harry tries to smile slightly but finds that he's unable to, "You're amazing in class, you make a very good Chaser, and despite everything else you're a great friend to have."

 _But not all of my grades are that great, and Father said I wasn't much of a help to my team at all._ "But I'm weak," Draco shakes his head.

Before Draco can say any more, Harry interrupts, "You're not weak."

"Then how do you explain these?" Draco retorts, as he slides his green sleeve back up before pulling it down over the bruise again in shame. He gestures to his eye, "And what about this? I couldn't even defend myself from some hotheaded Gryffindor."

Harry's quiet for a moment, "We're just kids. We can't fight against the whole world on our own." Draco looks away again. "We're not even fully grown," Harry justifies. "Ron is bulkier than you are. That doesn't mean you're weak."

"Then why did my father say I was?" Draco seethes.

Harry gives him a look, "You're really going to listen to your father, after everything he's done to you?"

Draco slightly shakes his head, "But he's right. I am weak. I…" He wraps a hand around his bicep to check, and there it is: all of the proof he needs. He is weak.

"Draco. Forget about your appearance for a moment." He looks back up. "You've got to be one of the strongest people I know, and it's not because you can throw a quaffle or take a beating or defend yourself. You're strong, because you're determined to stay strong no matter what you have to go through or face." Draco stays quiet, and Harry looks around for a moment, as if that may help him find more words to say, "You must have read a lot of books, and what to a lot of them say?" His friend doesn't answer. "That strength lies from within."

Draco laughs out a breath, "Yeah, right." He shakes his head, "It takes more than determination to get somewhere, Harry." He looks down at the green carpet, "And I just don't have those things."

Harry looks at him in disbelief, before he moves Draco's shoulder to make him look at him, "Aren't you the one that told me that we're strong enough to get through this? Aren't you the one that said that if we've been able to handle it this long, then we can continue to handle it?"

Remembering his father again, Draco's eyes shift downward and he whispers, "That was when I thought all of this was happening for a reason. That was when I thought there were lines that family members would never cross." He looks back up at Harry, "But this isn't a game. I know that now. There are no rules. There is only the king, the queen, and the pawn, and the king has the queen held under his thumb."

The creaking of the chained ceiling lanterns are heard through the silence, but Harry looks away for a moment and comments, "I don't know what to tell you other than that I'm here for you." He looks back up, "And that I know you will be here for me." Draco stays quiet, feeling as though responding that he would indeed be there would be a lie. "The hour is nearly over. You should eat, before the plate disappears."

Draco stares as he's handed the plate. There are a lot of oranges on it. In fact, if he were to put them together, there would probably be three whole oranges in his sights. "This was nice of you," he manages.

Harry shrugs, "I thought you needed more, but Greg insisted that this was good enough." Draco stares down at the perfect orange slices, not a piece of white in sight. "He said you might not be up for much and that if we had to choose something, that oranges would be good choice to help you heal."

"Yeah," Draco continues to look down at the plate. "He was right. It was just such a long day." _There are twenty-one oranges._ "I don't have a lot of energy left to just eat."

Harry nods down, "But you should. It will make you feel better."

Draco gives him a look, "Food doesn't make everyone happy, Harry."

"Whatever you think, Draco," Harry responds in slight irritation. "It will still be good for you. It has vitamin C in it, doesn't it? It should help you get better."

Not responding, Draco looks back down at the plate and begins to reach for a wedge, his hand unnoticeably shaky at the prospect of eating every orange. _Eat slowly. There's fifteen minutes left. You can do this._ "Right," Draco comments, as he brings a wedge to his mouth and bites into a third of it, making sure to chew for a while; however, as the juice floods his mouth more and more with every chew, he finds himself shocked and feeling slightly sick. _This has to be even more sweet than chocolate. What was Goyle thinking?_

"Something wrong?" Harry asks.

"No," Draco assures with a shake of his head. "It's great. Thank you."

* * *

\- For those of you who lack understanding as to why someone could become so nervous at the prospect of eating three oranges, I know that the wizard world isn't precisely knowledgeable about calories, but three oranges would equal nearly 200 cals. For someone who's not used to eating or for those actually restricting calories to 1,000 or 500 or even 300, three oranges suddenly becomes a big deal. With "diet" goals like that, those oranges could easily become half or one-fifth of the daily allotted calories one allows themselves. (By the way, anything less than 1,000 calories a day is a REALLY bad idea. For those doing this, hair loss is a thing... You may not notice, you may not care, but you should still know.) In this chapter when the amount of wedges were being counted, I purposely described it as twenty-one oranges instead of wedges so that some people may have actually thought of what twenty-one oranges would look like and how hard that may have been to eat. I know it's a very small imagery and that I had previously said wedges, so the imagery may not have worked for everyone, if anyone, but it still seemed like the better wording. Have a great day/night. I'll have more chapters ready next week.


	72. The Comeback

\- I know it's been a few weeks, but all I have are six chapters. I'll be posting three now and three later, maybe tomorrow night. The first three are mainly about Hermione. The second three are mainly about Draco. Now, onto the comments. **1** ) Someone who had previously read a chapter later in the story went to comment on chapter 1. Basically, they said I was switching tense like there's no tomorrow. Honestly, with the first chapter I'm not surprised with this, as it's largely aligned with Rowling's actual Sorting Hat chapter. She writes in past tense. Unless I'm doing a flashback, I try to stay in present tense. There's bound to be some mistakes. I just hope the mistakes are less prevalent in independently written chapters. In any case, assuming I get this fic finished I will be going back to edit anyway, so there's no real worry. I've also been told (not by you guys) that I switch back and forth between first and third person. I seriously hope you guys are smarter than that ?English teacher? and know it's just because it's thoughts. This is a novel, not an essay. Characters will have thoughts, and just like in most novels they will be italicized. Unless you're dyslexic or blind, I don't think the font this site offers is as horrible as some others. Granted, they could have given us Times New Roman, but I'm not complaining... Yes, I am. **2** ) Someone mentioned that I've been spelling Neville's name wrong. Thank you. I will endeavor to remember that for the future. However, sadly, I'm not sure if I could go back and change every mention of his name, not since I had to delete chapters from the doc manager. **3** ) The same person as number two talked about their experience with anemia. Thank you for your story. I hope you're doing better. I guess for some reason I may or may not have thought that the iron deficiency one wasn't as bad as the others, but like the others it's still deadly as you said. Given Draco's recent behavior I should probably bring this condition more forward again. I feel like I may have neglected the subtle signs in the last so many chapters, but then again, maybe that's a good thing? The characters themselves would probably get used to it, but still, as the chapters involving Draco tend to be from his point of view, this doesn't make a very good excuse. Although, we can still assume he's using most, if not all, of his concealers... I'm sorry I didn't post sooner. I usually try to get to eight chapters before posting two each night of part a week, but like I said I didn't even get past six chapters. The reality is when I got to Draco's... I don't know... I just had a really hard time getting myself to write them... Even though the next chapter after these six will probably involve Hermione again, I've still just had a hard time writing. The sixth chapter I got to was especially hard to write. I must have stopped like three or five times and spent almost an entire week on it... Really. I'm sorry.

* * *

"Hey. You're early," the strawberry blond girl cheerfully observes.

Hermione sits down with her stack of books, "Yes. Well, I needed to discuss something with you before Millicent shows up."

"What about?" Isobel asks, placing her painted thumbnail to her lower lip in curiosity.

Hermione puts a hand to her forehead. _Maybe this was a bad idea._

Rachael looks up from her opened textbook, "Come on. You can tell us."

"That's the thing." Hermione rests her arm back onto the table, "I think you all may have overheard some things that Harry was speculating the other week, which aren't actually true."

"You mean Snape didn't actually try to kill him?" Isobel whispers, a little too forward and excitedly speculative for Hermione's taste.

"He claims he was just doing the counter curse," Hermione confirms.

"And you believe him?" the black haired girl drawls out.

Hermione takes a moment to think, but she finds it slightly difficult as the three girls stare at her, "Professor Snape may be strict, but he's only the way he is because he wants what's best for us. He wants us to learn, to succeed… to not get killed by our mere stupidity."

"Still," Isobel responds skeptically. "He's a rather odd man. Don't you think?"

"Yeah," Rachael inserts. "He's always just so…"

"Secretive?" Katie suggests. "A little detached, maybe?"

"Yeah. That works," she answers.

"Not everyone is an open book," Hermione defends. "All of you should know that better than anyone." The group is silenced, and just as it seems like the light brown haired girl is about to speak, she shuts her mouth again, as Millicent is seen making her way over.

She stands over the table in unsureness, "I didn't get the time wrong, have I?"

Hermione looks at her watch, "No. You're just in time."

"Ah," she lets out in a relieved breath. "Thank gods. I was so worried there for a moment." She plants herself in a seat between Hermione and Rachel. "I've still got that paper to do for History. Does someone have the requirements? I forgot to write them down."

"Yeah," Katie opens the textbook and finds the parchment, before she happily passes it to her. "Here you go."

Millicent doesn't respond, quickly picking up her quill to jot the information down. Hermione stares at the messy ink scribbles in contemplation, "It's a bit late. Don't you think? I mean—" Her presence isn't even acknowledged. "I'm just saying, the paper is due tomorrow. Shouldn't you have gotten it done sooner?"

"It's not my fault the teachers all seem to think their class is the only one we attend." She hands the parchment back, "Thank you."

"I don't like it either," Rachel pipes up, "but she has a point." She gives a semi-critical, semi-concerned expression, "He's old-fashioned. If your paper or your writing on the paper looks like you rushed it, then he may make you do it over or worse— give you no credit at all."

"Don't you think I know that," the black haired Slytherin partly yells, and after a hurried complaint by the passing librarian, she struggles to calm down. Hermione swears that beneath those ruthless brown eyes a glimpse of fear can be seen, as the eyes soon become shiny with held back tears. She gulps as she shuts her eyes hard, before tilting her head up and back a little. After taking a slow, noiseless breath, her eyes open to reveal most of the water in her eyes had retreated, and to their surprise Millecent is back to her uptight, very controlled self; however, she shrugs off the incident like it's nothing, and her eyes appear glossed over as she speaks nonchalantly. "I have no right to complain. I know that, and I know that if everyone else isn't having any issues getting things done earlier then neither should I. However, nothing is going to change just because everyone seems to feel the need to address every small thing that's wrong with me or the things I do or don't do."

Hermione watches the other three girls sit in what appears to be silent shock, and it takes herself a moment as well to get her thoughts together enough to comment, "We weren't trying to say that you were doing something wrong. We're just trying to help. We—"

"Save it," Millicent cuts off softly. "I'm too tired to argue or to explain myself or my reasonings, and frankly we need to get to work. I can't be the only one who has things due within the next couple of days." She gives Hermione a look, "By the way, Slytherins don't have History of Magic on Mondays. We have it on Tuesdays, so it's not like I was just trying to put it off."

"I never assumed you were trying to," Hermione begins.

Millicent looks at the rest of the group, "We have Herbology tomorrow, don't we? Maybe we could review for that."

"I suppose we could," Rachael answers unsurely.

"Great." Millicent glowers at Hermione, smiling more than she ever has before. "You can leave. I don't believe this applies to you."

Hermione stands and then leans on the table, "I know you don't like me very much, but that's no reason to ruin my studying."

"I'm not ruining anything," she calmly states. "It's better, though, isn't it? To study for a class that's occurring the next day? It's just too bad you don't take Herbology with us. If you did, then you could have stayed."

"You're unbelievable."

"And you're just a hopeless mudblood." Hermione doesn't speak back, feeling her temperature rise in flustered disbelief and knowing that the girl may be right. There's no way she's going to be able to survive in this world. The currency alone: she'd have to save up every knut to just get by, and how is she even supposed to do that without a job? Granted, she could just exchange muggle pounds in for wizard change. _But the exchange rate is unbelievable. I already put my parents behind enough with those textbooks. And now. Now I'm the freak who uses pen and notebooks. I'm the girl who has frizzy hair and stained clothes, just because my parents couldn't teach me basic household magic._ "I think you should go now."

"Fine. I will," Hermione asserts. "I'll probably do better anyway without your large shoulders getting in my way."

Isobel raises her eyebrows, "A low blow much?"

Hermione ignores this and turns to leave. Yes, she knows. How could she not know? The guilty ball wound up in the pit of her stomach is enough to make her feel sick. _It's not even that she's that bad looking. I don't know why people think she's ugly. She looks fine to me anyway, but of course, I do suppose in a world of magic there would be higher expectations._ The fact is that she just wasn't ready for that, and she had no comeback prepared. So, she just said the first thing that came to her mind, which unfortunately was just some mean, nonrelated insult which she's heard several people mention before.


	73. Back at Square One

"Well. Aren't you at least going to tell us why you think Snape is innocent?" Harry questions in irritation.

"Don't bother," Ron comments as he snacks on some whizbee candies. "I've been bugging her all week, and still. Nothing."

"Well. You can't get everything you want just by pestering for the information, Ron," she states. "Imagine trying that with a teacher—"

"But you're not a teacher," Harry rebuttals her logic.

"What I said still stands," Hermione asserts, before she glares at Ron. "You can't get everything you want just by being increasingly annoying about it."

"Fine," Ron crosses his arms. "If you're so smart, then why don't you tell us what we should do now that you think Snape for sure isn't behind this?"

"Gladly." She opens up her notebook and looks over it, "It's back to observation. We look out for suspicious behavior, check on Fluffy, and do research."

"So, you're basically saying we're back at square one," Ron pouts. "All of the things we did, it was all just for nothing?"

"Not for nothing," Hermione responds evenly. "We know it isn't Snape, and thanks to him now we know whoever is trying to steal the stone, they will have more than just Fluffy to get past. Which is good. That means it's likely that the stone will be attempted to be stolen later rather than sooner."

He shakes his head, "I still can't get over it. Hagrid named that thing Fluffy."

"It is a common name for a dog, Ron."

Harry gives a look, "Can you really call it a dog?"

"Fair point," Hermione assesses, before she looks back down at her notebook and writes something off to the side.

"What are you writing?" Harry asks, as he leans over to look. "Practical test? Transfiguration. Tomorrow dash Thursday." He shakes his head, "Hermione. What is this?"

As she's about to speak Ron leans over as well, and then he points, "Hey. Look at this. This doesn't even have anything to do with anything. It's just History."

She pushes them both out of her space. "Well, at least I take notes unlike some people," she drawls out. "And besides." She picks the pen back up and continues to write. "This is important." She looks up in alarm after having seen their blank expressions, "Don't tell me you haven't prepared."

"I thought we were supposed to prepare for someone stealing the stone," Ron responds.

"And quidditch," Harry adds. "You wanted me to focus on practice. Remember?"

"But still. We can't let our grades fall, can we. Our futures depend on them."

"Doesn't matter anyway," Harry mumbles. "I had my test yesterday."

"Ah. Yes," Hermione remarks displeasingly. "You Slytherins and your differing class schedules."

"I'm sorry?" Harry questions. "Did I miss something?"

"Nothing. Really. Just Bulstrode being her usual, antagonistic self." She closes her notebook and smiles, "I think that's good enough for now." She looks at Ron, "Go study for tomorrow's test." and then at Harry. "And do check on Fluffy for us, won't you."

Ron gives an absurd look as she stands from the table, "And what are you doing?"

"I have my own research to do," Hermione blandly states, before she picks up her things and hurries off.

"What was that about?" Harry questions, still staring off to where she had left.

"I don't know," Ron huffs. "But you heard her." He partly smiles, "We've got chores, so we'd better get to them."

"Yeah," Harry surmises, "before she asks for a progress report."

* * *

Walking up to the library, when Hermione turns the corner she sees Draco arguing with Goyle. "Why can't anyone just believe I'm fine?"

"Because you don't look fine," Goyle asserts. "Have you even looked in the mirror recently?"

"Of course I have," Draco sneers. "It's kind of a hard thing to avoid, isn't it?" Goyle shakes his head in clear stress, and as he does so he sees her and then pauses. He taps Draco's arm, and Draco turns to look at her as well. "Granger."

He sounds angered and offended. "I was only heading to the library." She begins to shuffle by, and then she nods down as she walks backwards, "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt." She turns back around and continues to her destination, and as she hears a shout for her to wait, Draco asking how much she heard in that underlying desperate tone of his, she pretends not to hear and carries on.

In the library there they are: Isobel and Katie. Hermione slowly walks up to them, and she can't tell if the black haired girl appears more curious or annoyed. "We don't have a study session today."

"I know," Hermione hurries to sit down. "It's just that— your hair. It's just so perfect. I was wondering, well, if you could help me."

Isobel smirks as she touches her black tips, "It is quite marvelous, isn't it?" No one speaks. "Yeah. Alright. I'll help you."

"Really?" Hermione smiles hopefully.

"Yeah. Why not? I've got some time to kill."

"Thank you, so much."

Isobel puts a hand out, "Don't thank me yet." as she eyes her over. "We've got our work cut out for us." When Hermione begins to frown she smiles, "But luckily I think I know just the book we need to look over."

"So. I'm not completely hopeless?"

Her smile widens, "No. You're not hopeless." She stands and picks up her things.

Hermione mimics her actions, "Where are we going?"

"To the tower. We can look over the book in the common room."

"You can't just let someone in there," Katie defends. "We'll get into trouble."

Isobel smiles at her, "Well. It's a good thing I'm not letting her in, then." before smirking back at Hermione. "She's going to let herself in."

"What? But I can't," she reasons. "I'm not a Ravenclaw. I mean— I almost was— but still, I—"

"You almost were?" Isobel questions.

"The hat seriously considered it," Hermione explains, "but I think because I value bravery more than intelligence and since I'm more competitive, I got put in Gryffindor instead."

Isobel crosses her arms, her blue eyes seeming to sparkle, "Good. That will make this a whole lot easier." She looks down at Katie, "Are you coming?"

"No, but thanks. I've got to finish this."

Isobel sees the Potions packet, "Very well." and smiles back at Hermione. "Let's get to it then."

Hermione follows in unsureness, as Isobel leads her to the tower, "So, um, it's a riddle. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"What kind of riddle?"

"Well, they're a little abstract, but yet practical." She looks over her shoulder at her, "You seem nervous."

"I am a little," Hermione confesses.

"Well, don't be. There is no wrong answer," she reassures. "You just need to answer it correctly."

"That makes no literal sense."

There's a short pause, during which only the conversation of strangers can be heard; one about classes and grades, another about not waiting for the year to finish, and the last about the next quidditch game. "Think of it this way. You took algebra, right?"

"Yes," Hermione confirms.

"Well, when given the question x squared equals twenty-five, x can either be five or negative five, but both answers are correct. The same rule applies here. There is more than one answer, and so long as the way you got there is justified, then the answer is correct."

"I guess that makes sense," Hermione answers in uncertainty.

"Don't worry. If you're anything like a Ravenclaw, which the hat seemed to think you were, then you shouldn't have any problem."

* * *

\- My favorite part of this chapter has to be when Ron sees Hermione's notes and is just like, "This doesn't even have anything to do with anything. It's just history." My least favorite part... well, I'm not exactly psyched about Hermione doing "Research" to help with her hair when she gave the others orders to do homework and check on a deadly dog. The next chapter probably has more to do with Isobel than it does with Hermione, but Hermione is still heavily involved and I know you all are just waiting to see whether or not she can get into the house or not.


	74. The Eagle Brass Knocker

\- I'm sorry if the riddle seems lame or if her response sounds like something that should be incorrect, but I think it's at least okay. I would like to dedicate this chapter to the twins out there, but considering the contents maybe I shouldn't. So, there's this whole thing about whether or not Isobel or her sister actually exist, as one appears in the books and the other appears in the games. Apparently they were both confirmed by Rowling to be in Ravenclaw, but due to this brilliant (or not so brilliant) subplot I came up with, I took the creative liberty to not do that... Now, there's another set of twins, the Pravatti twins (and apparently all twins in the books are identical females for some reason) who also happen to be in Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. So, yeah. That's awkward, I guess. My bad. In any case, I hope you enjoy. The next chapters... Well, the next three will be posted at some point. I'm not saying tomorrow night, because if I promise then it won't happen. Have a good day/night.

* * *

"Here it is," Isobel announces.

Hermione takes a deep breath before walking up to the brass knocker. "What is the brightest star in the sky?"

Hermione freezes up, and Isobel responds, "Don't hesitate. If you take too long, then you will be locked out."

"There is no brightest star," Hermione hears herself say, and for a second she wonders how she could possibly reason that. "Brightness of stars depends on our perception. It depends not on how much light it emits or the intensity of it, but rather on where we are and how dark it is. Therefore, no star is brighter than another."

"An admirable answer," the eagle knocker comments, before the door slowly opens.

"I did it," Hermione stands still in shock.

Isobel walks up to her and places a hand on her shoulder, "Nice job adding how dark it is. The sun is a star as well, but if it's dark then we can't even see it."

When they walk into the common room Hermione looks around in amazement, as she observes the light coming in through the windows, the bronze statues and blue furniture, and the blue and white ceiling which depicts where the constellations are. "It's beautiful."

"It is. Isn't it?" Isobel looks around as well, as if seeing it in a new light herself.

"And all of these books," Hermione slowly lets out in amazement, as she touches a shelf.

"We have all of the basics plus some more," Rachael responds from the lounge sofa, looking up from the textbook on her legs. She glares at Isobel, "What's she doing here?"

"Don't worry. She let herself in." Rachael shakes her head but doesn't say any more, as she looks back down at her assignment. Isobel turns to Hermione, "Come on."

Hermione follows her to a bookshelf labeled _health_. "What kind of books are here?"

"The shelves are labeled."

"Yes," Hermione acknowledges, "but we're looking for a book to help with my hair."

"Which falls under the category of beauty and hygiene— in other words health."

"I think my hygiene is fine," Hermione defends.

Isobel turns around, "Really? Because the way I see it, if you were using the right hair products, then your hair wouldn't be so much of an issue." Hermione stays quiet and stares into the shelves, before Isobel turns back around to continue the search. "Do you comb or brush out your hair?"

"Brush."

"You need to start using a long toothed comb. Your hair type is thick and wavy. If you use a brush, you're not going to be able to get through all of it, and if you somehow manage to, then it will be time consuming."

"How do you know that?" Hermione inquires, as she observes the girl's straight and layered hair just reaching the bottom of her shoulder blades.

"Research. Plus I know someone who likes to complain about it." She takes out a small, thick book, "I'll ask them what products they use later, but for now we can look up some temporary fixes." She points to something and shows her. "Like this spell that helps control frizz by fixing split ends."

"I have split ends?" Hermione questions, as she picks up a clump of her tangled, brown hair that had been hovering over her materials.

"It may not be all split ends," Isobel accepts, "but with the length of your hair it is possible that's part of the reason why. People who like longer hair tend not to get it cut, and by not doing such they get split ends and it begins to grow slower; although, there are spells that can lengthen hair."

"There is?" Hermione asks in surprise.

"Yeah, but they're unreliable. It tends to be that the people who need the spell are the same people who the spell doesn't work well on."

"That doesn't make sense."

"They should really teach first years potion and spell theory. It has to do with what the spell is doing."

"Isn't it just growing your hair?" Hermione questions.

"Not even close," Isobel puts a hand out as if offended. "Hair and nail spells just speed up the process of the growing. That's why those who tend to need this spell are the same people it doesn't work well for, because they would probably be lacking the required minerals and vitamins for hair and nail strength and growth already." Hermione still looks at her, a bit confused, so she strides over to another bookcase explaining, "The potions are more effective, because they tend to have access vitamins and minerals in them, but I still wouldn't want to rely on something like that. It can be dangerous if you don't know what you're doing." She pulls a large, brown book off of the shelf and then walks back to hand it to Hermione. "Read this."

Hermione looks at the black indented words of the cover, "Spell Theory and Potion Mechanics. What are you really doing when you're casting?"

"It should explain everything, but, of course, if you find it a little advanced, then you can always ask me a question. Our parents thought it would help us do well if we understood what we were exactly doing, and I do agree that it does help."

"Our?" Hermione raises an eyebrow up in question.

"Oh. My sister," Isobel exclaims. "Morag. She should be in Gryffindor with you."

"Oh." Hermione takes a moment to recall the name, before she remembers it's a girl from her dorm. "Are you twins?"

"Yeah," Isobel confirms. "But she tries her best not to be like me. She had blond hair last time I saw her. Is it still blond?"

"I'm not sure. I don't really talk to people much," Hermione explains, and then she sees a sad look on Isobel's face. "When was the last time you spoke with her?"

Isobel shrugs as she blinks a few times, "Before the sorting. She said she wanted to be her own person. She said— she said—" She gulps and places a hand over her eyes just as the tears escape, but the quiet inward sobs can still be heard.

Not knowing what else to do, Hermione hugs her, "Hey. It will be okay."

"She said she'd make sure we weren't in the same house, even if the hat wanted us to be," Isobel finishes before breaking free. "I just— I don't understand why she'd do this to me. It's always just been us against the world. It's always just been us, but now I have no one and I just can't comprehend why or how she could ever do this to me. How can she just hate me so?"

"I'm sure she doesn't hate you," Hermione begins, and then she remembers what Isobel had just said. "She said she wanted to be her own person, right? Maybe she just thinks it will be harder to find who she is without you if you're still spending time with her." Isobel stays quiet, as if trying to process this reasoning. "And I know it's not the same as a twin," Hermione continues, "but you do have friends. You're not completely alone."

Isobel takes a large breath and holds it, before she lets it go, "I know." She shakes herself from the situation and looks back at the small book, "Your hair. Your hair." and then opens it. "So, let's take care of the split ends, and then I'm thinking an actual anti-frizz charm, and then we can try to look something up that will make your waves look less chaotic and more defined." She partly smiles, but her eyebrows are scrunched close to her eyes, as if she's still trying not to cry, "How does that sound?"

Hermione tries to smile in response, "Sounds brilliant. Thank you for doing this."


	75. Perfectly Perfect

"Hey. Draco."

Draco looks away from his friends' dorm exit, as he turns in annoyance and sees Blaise hesitantly moving towards him. "Yes."

"I was just wondering about something," Blaise begins vaguely, and then Draco sees him nod to the door.

He notices Goyle is lingering behind, "Go on without me. I'll meet you down there." After his friend leaves, Draco looks back at Blaise expectantly.

It takes a moment for him to continue, "I'm not sure how to ask this." as he rubs the back of his neck. He puts his arm down and stands straighter, looking Draco in the eye, "Have you been using that scale?"

"Yes," Draco lets out in a long tone.

Blaise looks away for a moment, seeming just a little uncomfortable as he rubs the back of his neck for a second time, "Do you know how much you're supposed to weigh?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"How much?"

"Five stone seven."

"And how much do you currently weigh?"

Draco widens his eyes and sneers, "That's none of your business."

"Draco," he shakes his head. "I just need to understand. Why?"

There's silence for a second, as Draco becomes still. He doesn't know why he's doing this. There is no clear reason as to why, but when he opens his mouth to admit that he doesn't know, he hears the voice. _You're doing this so that you can be perfect._ "I need to be perfect," Draco softly replies, the seemingly valid reason the monster gave him slipping from his tongue.

Blaise stares at him, "I don't know what this is, but it isn't perfection." Draco looks at the door. "Have you even seen yourself lately?"

"Of course I have," Draco snaps at him and grits his teeth. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Have you seen yourself lately? Or did you somehow miss the dozens or hundreds of mirrors this castle seems to have?"

Blaise continues on as if Draco hadn't said a word, "Your face is more defined than it was before."

"Isn't that supposed to be a good thing?" Draco counters.

"Do you think it's a good thing?" Draco stays quiet, as he looks around and the monster speaks to him. It's telling him to stay quiet, to deny or to leave, but all he can do is watch. "I've noticed the hair in the bin. There's more than there should be, and I know—"

"You don't know anything," Draco seethes.

"I know you told me not to trust my mom." He takes a step forward, "You said you thought she was lying, because you've lied to your family and to your friends."

"I never said what about, though, did I?" Draco raises his eyebrows in a smirk.

Blaise looks at him in disbelief, "I heard you trying to throw up."

"But I didn't," Draco responds evenly, "and you said you heard nothing. Therefore, nothing happened."

"It was heavily implied," Blaise stresses, "that you had similar issues to my mother. In fact. Yeah. I think those were your exact words, asking me if I was really going to… whatever that word was to you when my mother had a similar issue."

"Enable. The word is enable."

"So, you admit it happened."

Draco leans forward a little, "I admit nothing. Nothing happened. I'm perfectly fine."

Blaise uses a finger to gesture between the two of them, "Who are you trying to convince: me or you?"

Draco narrows his eyes and takes a step forward, "Let me make this very clear. I am perfectly perfect, and you will leave me alone. I paid you in full, so that's it. We're finished."

"Perfectly perfect," Blaise repeats. "No one is perfect, Draco."

He smiles, "Perhaps not, but once I get my last class up to Outstanding, I will be." He shrugs as he takes a few steps back, "Now. Forgive me, but my friends are expecting me." He strides out of the room, confidence filling him from the successful conversation. _Great, but now you're late for breakfast. You won't have any time to chat. Just see if you've been sent a package, and then get those muffins up to the Ravenclaws. Remember. You still need to finish that Herbology paper, so hurry._


	76. Statute of Secrecy

The following Saturday everyone is heading towards to field to witness the game, Harry, Draco, Vincent, and Greg walking in a group, when Blaise shouts, "Hey. Goyle. Wait up."

The group turns around and Harry comments, "I didn't know you were friends with him."

"We aren't," he responds as Blaise's pace slows and he walks up to them.

"Hey. I've been meaning to—" He sees the others staring and asks, "Can we speak alone?" Greg doesn't answer. "It's important."

Greg takes a breath before looking behind himself, "Go on. I'll meet you there." They begin to walk away, but Draco falters, looking between the two and standing in place. "Go." Draco hesitantly leaves and Greg looks back at Blaise, "You said this was important?"

"Yeah. It is."

Greg waits a moment, but after no explanation he replies, "So? What is it?"

Blaise looks up, apparently still in thought, his mouth open a moment before speaking, "Do you know about Draco?"

"I'd like to think so." Blaise looks away for a moment. "What's this about?"

"I'm worried about him. He's—" He looks around again and shakes his head, as if debating whether this was the brightest idea. "He's not okay."

Greg shakes his head, "Look. Draco's always had his own little problems, but he's been doing a bit better now. He's fine."

"Are you sure about that?" Blaise retorts.

"Yeah. I mean… It's been ruff, but he's okay now."

He nods once, "Yes. Well, what if I were to suggest that he hasn't been doing better but that he's instead gotten worse?"

Greg glares at him, "He's not doing better. He's doing worse." He shakes his head, "I mean— you know what I mean. I would have known if it had gotten worse."

"So," Blaise shifts his head in a shrug, "he doesn't lie or keep secrets from you?"

"I would know if he was," Greg insists.

Blaise nods, "Yes. Well. I'm just going to warn you then, that Draco bought a scale from me. It's a—"

"I know what a scale is," Greg infuriates. "What in Merlin's name are you giving him that for?" He stays quiet in contemplation. "You must have been really worried to give something like that to _him_."

"I didn't know this would happen," Blaise yells before looking around to make sure no one is watching them, before he continues in a whisper. "I just knew he wanted something to keep track of his appearance and that since his measuring tape was taken—"

"And why did you think the tape got taken?" he interrupts. "Did you think it just got taken for no good reason or what, because you must have thought it was for no reason if you just went off and did this."

Blaise expresses guilt as he slowly responds, "He told me I shouldn't give it to him, but when I asked if he didn't want it he said he did, so I let him have it." He looks away, "Under the condition that he does my homework for a month."

Greg's mouth gapes, "And that desperateness wasn't good enough of a sign for you?"

"I didn't think—"

"No. You didn't," Greg growls. "You didn't think at all." He shakes his head in disapproval before turning around, heading towards and up the stands until he finds the group.

Harry gives him a surprised look as he sits down, "You look mad."

When Greg doesn't respond Draco nervously asks, "What did he say?"

He lets out a breath and shakes his head, "Nothing. He was just being stupid."

Draco stares at him for a moment, "Are you sure. I mean, he didn't say anything?"

Greg looks up at him, "Were you expecting him to say anything?"

Draco gives that same look he had given the headmaster the semester before, "No. Of course not."

Greg looks away and out towards the field, "Good to know."

* * *

"Greg. Did you hear me?"

He looks up from his plate, "Uh. Yeah."

Harry looks at him skeptically, "What did I say?"

"Something about class."

Harry gives a blank stare, "Close. Quidditch. I was just asking if you guys think Ravenclaw or Slytherin has a better chance of winning."

"I was just telling him that Slytherin has to win," comments Vincent. "Our team works way harder than any other."

After a minute Harry asks, "What do you think, Greg?"

"I think," Greg slowly responds, "that I should check on Draco."

Vincent watches him stand, "But you haven't finished your plate."

"I've had enough. If not, there's always lunch," he justifies before walking out of the Hall and heading up to the library. Once there he abruptly pauses, however, as he glances into the bin and sees one of the muffins Draco had brought up with him. He shakes his head and lets out a disappointed breath. Somehow, he had hoped Draco hadn't gotten worse, even if he wasn't better yet. He should have known, though. This behavior is nothing he hasn't seen before. He shakes himself from all of the signs he should have seen before, and then he scours the library for his friend. "Hey."

Draco scrunches up his eyebrows, "What are you doing here?"

"It's nice to see you too."

Draco closes his eyes for a second, "That's not what I meant." and then opens them. "You should be at breakfast."

"And you should be eating yours," he counters.

Draco's quiet for a moment, but then he asks, "What?" just to make sure his paranoid mind wasn't influencing what he had heard.

Goyle takes a step forward, "I found the muffin in the bin."

Draco shakes his head immediately, "No. No. That's not mine. I swear I didn't—"

"Save it," Goyle responds with a frown. "I know it's yours."

"But it's not," Draco insists. "It's not. I swear." _You gave it away._ "It's not mine."

Goyle slowly shakes his head, "Just don't. I'm not doing this right now. I just came up to see how you're doing." Draco turns his head back down at the table. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Draco quietly responds, picking his quill back up.

"Are you? Really?" Goyle questions.

"Yeah," Draco shakes his head. "I'm perfectly fine. There's nothing to worry about."

"And you would tell me if there was. Right?"

Draco lets out a tired, defeated breath. _Remember why you're doing this. You need to be perfect. If you tell him, he will take it all away from you, and then how do you plan on impressing your father? I'll tell you now. You wouldn't._

"Draco."

"Yeah?"

"You would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," Draco quietly responds, looking blankly down at his history paper.

"Turn around and tell me." Goyle's voice is sad but insistent, "Look at me and tell me that you're fine, that there's nothing to worry about."

Draco turns around and composes himself, looking straight into his friend's eyes, and he swears a small fear lies beneath the brown surface. "I'm fine." _You've got this under control._ "There's nothing to worry about."

"You promise?" He quickly puts a hand up, "Wait. Don't answer that." and then he puts it down. "If you say you're fine, I will just have to trust that you are."

Draco watches him turn away, "Hey." and then Goyle looks back. "It will be okay. I—"

"Don't promise," Goyle interrupts. "Just make it so."

Draco watches him walk away, an emptiness inside— a cold emptiness— numbing his thoughts. All he could do was watch, and even though he thinks he has control of this thing now, he fears he may not. He should have at least been honest about that, but he didn't say anything because he knows the monster is right; if his friend were to find out about him allotting meal times specifically and only for homework again, then he would put a stop to it. He would put a stop to it, and then all of his hard work would have been for nothing. He would have fallen back into an average schedule worthy only of an average grade, and he can't have that. It's better that he doesn't know. At least this way he has the slightest chance of being perfect, of impressing his father, and getting everything he had ever wanted. _There you go. Now. Where were we?_ Draco looks down at the parchment and finishes his conclusion, "The mass witch burnings, including those of children, and the failure to establish protection for wizard kind under muggle law is what makes it unlikely for muggles to ever accept our kind, and which makes the International Statute of Secrecy the most important law to date."


	77. If I Didn't Know You

\- So, here's the thing, because I'm American my knowledge of measurement is different than 90% of Earth. In this case, I've been depending on a converter and the knowledge that fourteen pounds equals a stone to get the measurements. However, I ran into a problem in this chapter. When I was trying to translate his weight to stone, the number was shone to be 4.14. I had thought that the first number represented stone while the second represented pounds, but this number indicates that I would be incorrect. How many digits show up on a scale for stones? How would the number I got be read. If anyone could elaborate on this, then it would be a great help. Thank you.

* * *

Draco rushes towards Blaise, points his wand at him, and sneers, "Where is it?"

Blaise backs up to the wall of the dorm, his arms raised in surrender, "Where is what?"

Nott looks up from his book in a curious shock, as he watches Draco take another step. "You know what."

He stutters, "I don't know what you're talking about." looking down at the ten inch wand.

"I think you do," Draco speculates. "You got concerned. I don't know why— we're not even friends— but you got concerned, and then you stole back what I had bought from you." He takes another step forward, "It was expensive, you know, and time isn't the kind of thing you can pay back. There is no exchange here. You know what I should do after what you did? After you bettered yourself at my expense and then stole back what I had gotten from it?" He bares his teeth, "What do you think of slug vomiting?"

Nott interrupts, "You don't want to do that."

"Why not?" Draco darts his head at him.

He takes a moment to rationalize, "It would be messy, and he lives in our dorm." as he really doesn't want to find himself at the other end of that wand either.

"You're right," Draco agrees. "You know, I hate a mess. That would be no good." He smirks at Blaise, "No. We need something more appropriate. Something that will be a waste of your time. Oh! I know. How about we render you mute. Try getting your astronomy assignment done tonight without being able to speak."

Blaise slightly shakes with worry, "The Silencing Charm is a fifth year spell. You couldn't possibly know it."

Draco bends his head down as he raises his eyebrows, "You know how many times I've seen it used? Countless. I think I could do it if I gave it a try."

Blaise shuts his eyes tight as Draco begins to move his wand, but then Goyle yells, "Wait." and Draco looks over his shoulder. He steps forward, "He didn't take it. I did."

Draco seethes, "You. You did this?" as he stomps toward him.

"It's not good for you," Goyle explains.

Draco spats, "I'm older than you. I think I'll determine what is or isn't good for me myself." He glares at him, "Now. Where is it?"

"No. I'm not telling you," his eyebrows furrow. "If your father knew—"

"I don't care," Draco yells. "I need it. You don't understand. I have to have it."

Goyle shakes his head at the sight of Draco raising his wand again, "Can you not do that? We're friends. You don't need to threaten me just to get something."

His hand shakes, "Then tell me where it is."

"Draco. Just think this through. Why would you even need it?"

He grits his teeth, "I just do." and stretches his arm out further. "Where is it?"

Goyle solemnly comments, "Fine, but I'm not telling you where it is. I need to know what's going on. If you think you need it, then you come to me." Draco doesn't speak, but his arm lowers a bit. "Do you need it now?"

Draco's about to speak, but then he remembers the others in the room. He peers over at Nott, "Can you stay quiet?"

"I normally do," he softly responds.

Draco looks back at Goyle and nods. "Okay, then. Shut your eyes." Draco follows the command, as his friend gets the scale out from his bottom drawer. Greg had hoped that Draco would say he didn't need it, but his lack of care about who sees him doing this shows just how desperate he really is. And to think he actually thought Draco was okay, he should have known he wasn't. He lays the scale out in front of Draco, "Okay. You can open them now."

Immediately, Draco steps onto it. _Four stone, fourteen._

Greg looks down at the number, "There. You're still underweight. You happy?"

Draco steps off it and turns away, mumbling, "No." as he wraps one arm around his stomach and brings his other hand to his head. "I'm sorry."

Greg sadly comments, "There's nothing to be sorry for. Just—" Draco turns around to look at him. "You need to be honest. You're not okay. You need to accept that." Draco merely looks down at the floor, as he leans on the post of a bed. "Shut your eyes." Draco complies and the room is deafly silent, as Nott and Blaise maneuver to watch the scale be put away. Greg gives them both an even look, before he walks back towards Draco, "Okay. You can open them."

When Draco does he looks from Goyle to Blaise, and then just a quick glance at Nott, before he sadly tries to reassure his friend, "I'm okay. Really. I— I just had to know."

Goyle calmly responds, "You had your wand pointed at me. Me. Your friend." He lets out a breath, "Draco. There's nothing okay about that. If I didn't know you…"

Draco doesn't want to know how the sentence finishes, but hoping that it's better than what he imagines he asks, "Then what?"

Goyle observes him for a moment, "Then I would think you to be insane."

Draco slowly sits down on the bed and nods, "I know." before he looks over at Blaise for a brief second. "If anyone found out, I'd be institutionalized."

"No. You wouldn't be," Goyle firmly comments. "You're not insane. You're just going through something."

Draco huffs, "Yeah. Right. Like any health official would agree with that." before looking up at him. "Insane is defined as a state of mind that prevents normal perception, behavior, or social interaction. To be institutionalized for insanity the behavior only needs to be consistent and a danger to oneself or others."

"But you're not a danger to others," Goyle reasons.

"Doesn't matter," Draco counters. "Like you said at the beginning of this year, I'm a danger to myself, and that's all that will matter."

Goyle carefully thinks, "I don't recall telling you that you were a danger to yourself."

"That's because you didn't," Draco responds, "but there's a reason why you were being so annoying."

"You thought I was annoying?" Goyle questions.

Draco looks away for a second before confessing, "Sometimes I still do."

He gives a sad expression, "I'm just trying to help."

"I know," Draco softly acknowledges, "but there are a lot of times when I don't think I need help, where I only see the help as another obstacle to get past through the day."

"Is that what you think now?"

Draco opens his mouth to answer truthfully, but then he hears the monster. _Tell him no. Say no. You're fine now._

"Draco?" Goyle inquires.

"Yes," Draco manages.

"Yes, what?"

Draco wets his lips, "Yes, that's what I currently think."

* * *

\- So, this is it. These were Draco's chapters, and this is the one I had the hardest time finishing... I could speculate why I had a hard time writing this one, but I really don't know why. The issue wasn't that I didn't know what to write... Maybe I just didn't want to write what I knew would happen. Or perhaps this whole thing was triggering me in a "good" way, but it can't be that good if it's preventing me from writing. I currently have no chapters after this, and I don't know when I will be able to write more. I will try to, but... I don't know. Like I said, I've just been having a really hard time writing this lately. It's like watching Draco go through this and looking at it from an outside view, and then coming to the realization of how ridiculous Draco's behavior and excuses have been and how what people call "the eating disorder voice" is impacting him so much... I don't know. It's just hard to think about, and it's like something doesn't want me to write or read it... I don't know. This— It's just stupid. I hate this. I love to write. This shouldn't be happening... I don't know. I hope you've enjoyed. I'll try to write, but if I for some reason can't then I will be rereading/editing/re-posting chapters for my Mulan fanfiction. I don't know why I think it will help or how it could possibly be any different, as a few issues do carry over to that fic. However, I've been requested to post more for that fic, and considering that I just happen to have 50 chapters on standby for it, I figure it will be a good time to reread the story and update the chapters. It will probably need editing, so if you haven't already read it then don't read a chapter that doesn't have author notes. If you're dying for some more Harry Potter fanfiction, I do have Draco's Journal if you haven't read that yet. Otherwise, I'm not sure what exactly to say... Have a good day/night. See you later.


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